


Lock Me Up (With Love)

by MarisaKateBella



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Awkwardness Abounds, M/M, Michonne and Andrea are cute on the side, Michonne plays matchmaker, Non-Apocalyptic, Rick and Daryl are roommates, Rickyl College!AU, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 13:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1606706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarisaKateBella/pseuds/MarisaKateBella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick Grimes is a senior at UGA who is gearing up for the greatest year of his life. He’s got the two best friends in the whole world: Michonne, who he has known since freshman year, and Shane, who has been by his side since preschool, his beautiful high school sweetheart whom he adores, and a one way ticket to the Police Academy after graduation. That is until he gets his housing assignment…a double? For a senior? It’s unheard of. And what is worse: he’s stuck there, thanks to an overly packed incoming freshman class. To top it all off his roommate, Daryl, is rude and probably the most anti-social person he’s ever met. Whoever said college was the best time of your life was obviously lying. Betrayals, heartbreak, and scandals erupt on Horvath House 5th floor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mind Your Manners

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, I know a few of you who have been following me know I’ve been gearing up to write something pretty big. Well, I’ve finally reached a place where I felt like I could share a sneak peek of my new story: Lock Me Up (With Love)! This is my first attempt at a Rickyl!Longfic so read at your own risk. I am posting this chapter just to get a feel for the fanbase, since many of you know that I’m going to be pretty busy this summer and regular updates won’t be promised until August. I know it’s a long time to wait but hopefully it’s worth it.
> 
> I would really love some feed back—if you would like to continue reading this, what you think of the characterization. Anything you want to give me will be considered as I move forward with the story (and probably write a revamped first chapter.) I wanted to especially thank Holly (http://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomvision/), this story would not be going where it is going without you. Thanks for all your support and help! (Thanks to all my other lovely followers and friends who have been eagerly awaiting the appearance of this fic.) So without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure: Lock Me Up (With Love).

“Last name please.” A harried looking woman requested as Rick stepped up to the table.

“Grimes.” Rick answered. He waited patiently as the woman ran her highlighter down the side of the page she was bent over. The room was loud with the overlapping voices of several students greeting each other after a long summer away, getting their room assignments and talking excitedly together. The lines were formed by grade and it was amusing to see the awkward and tightlipped freshman with their parents pressed close to their sides. Rick lip quirked up slightly at the sight of them; when did they start looking so young?

“Richard?”

Rick looked back at the woman after hearing his full name, wrinkling his nose a bit but not losing his friendly smile. He nodded at her, but when she didn’t look up from the list in front of her he cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“Room 5A, Horvath House.” She passed him his packet with his room key and several other items describing moving in processes and general first week back information.

“Thank you.” Rick said politely and turned to leave.

“Mr. Grimes?” The woman looked up for the first time since Rick had stepped up to her table.

He paused and turned towards her with an expectant expression.

“I don’t know if anyone informed you, but due to a large incoming class some people had to be shuffled around. You’ve got a roommate. If you have any questions or concerns please contact Residential Life, but I’ll warn you now that there is little they are going to be able to do.”

“It’s not a problem.” Rick stated, though his voice might’ve been just a bit tight. The woman gave a sharp nod before dropping her head back down and the next senior in line stepped forward. Rick walked out of the room and began meandering through the administration building with his thoughts churning. A roommate? That was a load of bull; he was a senior. Seniors didn’t have roommates. He’d specifically picked his room because he’d be in a single, for the first time in three years, along with all his other friends.

Rick had never really particularly _minded_ having a roommate before, he had lucked out his freshman year and been roomed with someone he still considered a good friend. But he wouldn’t be honest with himself if he wasn’t just a little miffed at the fact that he was going to have to share a cramped space with another person again. He should’ve just opted to live off campus like Michonne, but he enjoyed UGA’s campus too much and frankly was too lazy to commute everyday.  Besides, his parents told him they wouldn’t help him pay for an apartment if Lori moved in with him, and _that_ had gone over extremely well with her…so dorm life it was.

Besides it was only one more year.

But now it was one more year with a roommate. He figured it could be worse; the poor bastard who was his roommate may have been uprooted totally from where he had wanted to be. At least he was still on the same floor that he’d chosen. He decided to view it as an opportunity instead of an inconvenience; he had never been one to pass up the chance of a potential friendship.

Rick was broken out of thoughts by the sound of his name being called by a familiar voice as he stepped out of the building. He spotted his mother standing next to her car, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand and waving with the other. He jogged down the steps towards her, dodging students and parents as he went. “Hey Ma.”

“Ricky, did you get your keys?” His mother inquired as he went around to the driver’s side of the car, both of them hopping in.

“Yup. I, uh, got a roommate.”

“A roommate?” His mother repeated as she slammed the door to the SUV shut.

“Yeah, big freshman class apparently.” Rick shrugged a shoulder as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb, carefully maneuvering the vehicle back onto the main road that cut through campus.

His mother hummed thoughtfully in response but made no other comment about it, settling into her seat. As they drove through campus Rick absorbed his surroundings. The university grounds were buzzing with life, parents and students alike were running from place to place, carrying boxes and random odds and ends, hugging people goodbye, hugging other people in greeting. The windows were rolled up to keep the cool AC in the car but Rick could still hear shouts of greetings as they wound their way towards Horvath house, his new residence for the year. He parallel parked the car at the front entrance after waiting for a family to finish moving their things. He popped the trunk before hopping out and meeting his mother around the back.

His mother slung a bag full of clothes over her shoulder and picked up his desk lamp with the other hand. Rick gathered up a box in his arms and nodded for his mom to lead the way into the building. The front entrance functioned as a lobby of sorts, with a few couches and chairs, sparse decorations littered the walls. The clerk was busy directing students to their different rooms but Rick passed him by, pushing the up button on the elevator with his hip.

When they entered the elevator his mother put the bag down on the floor by her feet with a dramatic sigh. “I’m glad this is the last year you’re doing this, peach. I don’t think I could take another move-in day.”

“There’s still moving out.” Rick glanced sideways at his mother, quirking his lips.

She batted him on the shoulder with a huff of laughter. Rick took a moment to take in his mother’s appearance. She was tall, her head coming up to his chin, and lean though her back had begun to curve with her age. She had shoulder-length strawberry blonde hair that was streaked with grey, which she proclaimed gave her a classy appearance. Thin lines had begun to show on her face, around her eyes and mouth, but they were laughter lines mostly. She was wearing a yellow sundress and sandals, the perfect outfit for the late Georgia summer.

When the elevator doors opened up onto the top floor of the apartment building they stepped out into the middle of a long hall, where students and families were bustling in and out of rooms. “Which way?” His mother asked, looking down both sides of the hallway.

“To the right, all the way at the end. 5A.” Rick said, gesturing with his head. He followed his mother down the hall, periodically glancing into rooms since the doors were all open as people were coming in and out. They came to the end of the hallway, where an exit light sat on top of a door. Next to it was the only door that was closed, a black “5A” painted on the front. His mother looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged in response and she tried the door, finding it locked.

“Maybe he’s not here yet?” Rick suggested, setting the box down and reaching in his pocket for the key. When the door swung open he found he was wrong. The room was large for a dorm, with two beds pressed against opposite sides of the wall, a large window parallel to the door let in a stream of sunshine. Two desks were situated at the ends of both of the beds, pressed against the walls as well. Rick’s eyes trailed around the room for a moment before coming to rest on the person laying casually on the bed on the left.

“Uh…hello.” Rick said, feeling extremely awkward about the situation all of the sudden.

“Don’t just stand there Ricky, this bag is heavy--“ his mother pushed past him, into the room, stopping short when she saw the other occupant. It was only a moment before she broke out into a large smile. “Hello sweetie! I’m Judy Grimes, Rick’s mom.”

The young man lowered the book, which had been obscuring his face, from where he sat propped against the pillows. The first thing Rick noticed was the sharp cut of his blue eyes which were staring at his mother as if she was some sort of strange animal he’d never seen before. “Hello, ma’am.” He said quietly before lifting the book back up to shield his face once more.

Judy turned around and gave Rick a look, pursing her lips as she dropped his stuff onto the unoccupied bed.

Rick wandered back into the hall to grab the box he’d set down. He bent over to pick it up when he heard someone comment behind him.

“Careful, don’t want to strain a muscle there, pretty boy.”

Rick whirled around to see Michonne leaning against the entrance to the common area which was just across from his own room. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Michonne shrugged a shoulder and raised the bag of M&Ms in her hand, popping another one into her mouth. “My apartment building doesn’t have vending machines.”

Rick quirked a smile and walked towards her, moving the box to his hip so that he could give her a one armed hug, which she returned. “How was your summer?”

She hummed. “Alright, broke up with Andre.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He was kind of a dick.”

Rick snorted at her bluntness. He’d always appreciated Michonne for it, too many people tended to cover things up with pretty words, but not his friend. He knew she’d make a great lawyer for it; her no-bullshit attitude left no room for arguments.

“How about your summer?”

“Alright, same old, same old.”

“Lori?”

“She’s around here somewhere.”

Michonne hummed again, cutting her eyes around the hallway, looking for Rick’s girlfriend.

“Don’t do that.”

“What?” Michonne turned back to Rick, eyes wide with innocence.

Rick raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, deciding to change the subject instead. “If you want to earn your keep for stealing all our M&Ms why don’t you help me unpack? Ma’s here and I know she’ll make it an all day affair so she doesn’t have to say goodbye.”

Michonne nodded and Rick handed over the keys to his mother’s car before watching her leave through the exit door, opting to take the stairs instead of the elevator. When he re-entered the room his mother was sitting at the foot of his new roommate’s bed; who had put his book, open, onto his chest. Rick placed the box down by his desk.

“Ricky, this is Daryl Dixon. He’s a forestry major and a senior like you. Isn’t that right, dear?” Judy said, patting Daryl’s boot-clad foot.

Daryl startled at the contact, drawing his feet up so that he was sitting cross-legged against the head of the bed, his book falling into his lap. He nodded his head but avoided meeting Rick’s eye. His long brown hair shielded Rick’s view of his face. Rick took a moment to look him over. He was wearing a pair of torn jeans and a black Metallica t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. His arms were crossed over his chest, showing off toned biceps. He was thin and looked tall, though he was hunched over on himself.

“I’m Rick, as I’m sure Ma already mentioned. Ma, why don’t you go see if you can find Lori and Mrs. Callies? I saw Michonne earlier and she agreed to help with the rest of my stuff.”

His mother looked like she was about to protest but at that moment Michonne appeared in the doorway and Judy sighed in defeat. She got up from the end of Daryl’s bed and patted Rick’s cheek. She greeted Michonne with a hug before disappearing through the door. Rick hooked his fingers into his belt loops and glanced over at Daryl, who had gone back to reading his book, looking much more relaxed but still studiously ignoring Rick and the new addition to the room. Michonne sent Rick a questioning glance but he shook his head minutely and gestured to the door.

Michonne and he made quick work of the rest of his stuff, dumping the few boxes of things onto his side of the room. Rick was just standing up, stretching his back with a pop, when he caught sight of someone in the doorway.

“Hey baby.” Lori Callies stood in the doorframe, with Shane hovering just behind her.

“And that’s my cue.” Michonne muttered to herself, throwing Rick a mock salute before squeezing passed his girlfriend and disappearing.

Rick stepped forward, wrapping Lori in a hug and slapping Shane on the shoulder. “Long time, no see.” Rick joked, kissing Lori on top of the head.

Shane snorted and rubbed his hand through his thick black hair. “Yeah, four hours. Helluva a wait.” He commented, referring to the four hour car ride that it had taken them to get here with their families. The trio all came from a small town in Tennessee. Shane and Rick had known each other since they’d been old enough to walk and Lori had been Rick’s sweetheart since Junior Prom.

Rick turned, tucking Lori under one arm, while both hers wrapped around his waist. “Daryl—uh, this my girlfriend, Lori. And that’s my best friend, Shane.” Rick pointed behind him.

Daryl barely glanced up from his book, his blue eyes quickly scanning the two new people before falling to the pages again without so much as a sound of acknowledgement.

Lori tightened her grip on Rick’s waist and jerked her head towards the door. The trio stepped out into the crowded hallway. “What the hell?” Lori asked, breaking away from Rick so that she could look up at him properly.

“What?” Rick snapped, somewhat defensively.

“Who is god’s name is that redneck?” Shane supplied, Lori nodding rapidly next to him.

“His name’s Daryl.” Rick answered, feeling a strange flare of protectiveness on the part of his new roommate. “He seems nice enough.”

“Dixon?” Shane asked.

“Yeah.”

“Ain’t nothin’ nice about them Dixons, man. You don’t wanna tangle with them.” Shane rubbed a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he did so.

“He seems fine.” Rick reinforced.

“Why do you have a roommate anyway?” Lori bemoaned.

“I don’t know, Lor. Big incoming class, they had an overflow and I just happened to be one of them I guess.”

“That’s bullshit. Everyone else on this hallway is in a single!” Lori crossed her arms with a huff.

Rick latched onto her elbow and pulled her to him, rubbing his hands up and down her biceps in comfort. “Like I said, he ain’t too bad. If something funny goes down I’ll report it to Res Life, but as of right now, there is nothing I can do about it.”

Lori sighed after a moment and tilted her chin up so Rick could give her a reassuring kiss. After a few seconds they broke apart. “I’ve got to go say goodbye to my mom; she ran off with yours somewhere.”

“I bet my Ma is with ‘em. I’ll go with ya’.” Shane offered, to which Lori nodded her head.

“If you see mine send her back this’a way, will ya’?”

“Yeah, man!” Shane called over his shoulder.

Rick smiled as he watched them disappear into the crowd and then headed back into his room. Daryl had shifted on the bed, now lying flat on his stomach with his nose buried in his book. Rick paused for a moment, staring down at his boxes before beginning to unpack. He placed his clothes in the dresser on his side of the room and then turned to the closet. He heard Daryl shift on the bed behind him as he slid door open to the shared space. There were a few jackets, and a nice button down hung on one side of the closet, with a few different pairs of boots thrown haphazardly on the ground; but that’s not what caught Rick’s eye. Lying on the shelf above the hanger rack was an expensive looking crossbow.

Rick looked over his shoulder at his roommate with an eyebrow cocked. Daryl was standing in between their beds, watching Rick wearily with those piercing eyes. His feet were splayed out and his hands were clenched in fists by his sides, as if he was prepared for a fight.

“Are you allowed to have that?” Rick asked curiously.

“Ya’ gonna report me?” Daryl growled defensively, his body swaying slightly towards Rick, even though he was a few feet away.

Rick shrugged a shoulder. “You’re not plannin’ on shootin’ me with it, are you?” Turning to face Daryl and crossing his arms with a small, teasing smile. 

Daryl blinked. “Wha—hell no.”

Rick smile widened. “Then I don’t think we’ll have a problem.” He turned back to the closet, grinning to himself.

“Ya’ ain’t worth no damn arrow, anyways.” He heard Daryl mumble behind him.

He turned back around and saw that Daryl’s face had turned a shade darker, obviously not having meant to be heard, but Rick laughed once. “Glad you think so.”

He watched in fascination as Daryl’s gaze jumped all over him, like he was scanning the pages of his book and Rick felt as if he may be that easy to read, pinned under the other man’s stare. After a moment the dark haired man just nodded and turned to sit back on his bed. Rick went back to putting his clothes away.

His mother bustled back into the room a few minutes later. “Hello boys!” She smiled brightly.

Daryl looked up from his book, turning down the page and laying it aside. “Hello Ma’am.” He repeated in the same monotone he’d used the first time.

"None of that ‘ma’am’ stuff. I told you, sweetie, just call me Judy. All Rick’s other friends do.”

Daryl bit at his thumbnail but jerked his head once in a nod, his gaze fluttering down to his shoes. Rick thought the movement was oddly endearing.

“You leavin’ soon?” Rick asked, putting the last corner of his fitted sheet onto his bed.

“Tryin’ to get rid of me, young man?” Judy put her hands on her hips in mock annoyance.

Rick could feel Daryl watching the interaction like a prickle on the back of his neck. “Of course, Ma. The sooner I get rid of you the sooner I can go do all those irresponsible college things. You know; smoke, drink, have lots of—“

“Richard Grimes, don’t you ever go there.”

Rick laughed outright at his mother’s attempt at an indignant expression, which broke after just a moment as she chuckled lightly.

“Git over here and say goodbye.”

Rick stepped up to his mother and wrapped her in a hug, breathing in the scent of her flowery perfume, closing his eyes for just a second and allowing himself to find comfort in the embrace, knowing it was the last taste of home he would get for a few months.

When they broke apart Judy’s blue eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. “You be a good boy.” She said firmly, patting his scruffy cheek fondly.

Rick leaned down and kissed his mother briefly on the cheek. “Of course, Ma.”

Judy peeked around Rick’s shoulder to look at Daryl, who ducked his head when he thought he had been caught watching the exchange. “You keep him in line for me, dear. He may come off innocent but don’t let Ricky fool you.”

Daryl’s gaze jumped to Rick’s. There was confusion and curiosity there, but Rick could also pick out just a faint amount of amusement. Daryl’s lip quirked up briefly at Rick, before he looked back at Judy. “Yes ma’am.”

Judy nodded, satisfied. She gave Rick another fleeting hug before turning to head out of the door. “Goodbye, boys. It was lovely to meet you, Daryl.”

Daryl’s “you too” was said so quietly and just a moment too long after she was gone that Rick figured his mother hadn’t caught it, but he definitely did and he smiled at his roommate appreciatively.

“Sorry, she can be a bit…much.” Rick sighed, shaking his head fondly before collapsing down on his bed and stretching out, putting his hands behind his head and crossing his ankles. “What about yours?” Rick turned his head slightly so he could take in the view of his roommate, who was sitting cross-legged, his back against the wall, facing Rick.

“My what?” Daryl asked.

“Your Ma.”

“Dead.” Daryl bit out gruffly.

“Oh…I’m sorry.” Rick said, watching Daryl quietly as he shifted around on the bed, obviously uncomfortable about something. Rick was searching for something else to say that might alleviate the sudden heavy air hanging around them when the bathroom door banged open, startling Rick into a sitting position and causing Daryl to almost leap out of his bed in shock.

“Rick! I—Oh…um…hi?” A young man in a baseball cap stood uneasily in the middle of their room, one hand on his hip and the other on the back of his head. “Well…this is awkward.”

“Who the fuck?” Daryl spat, straightening himself out, obviously annoyed at having been caught off guard.

“Daryl, this is Glenn Rhee. He was my roommate freshman year. We’ve been friends ever since.” Rick gestured at Daryl. “This is my roommate, Daryl Dixon.”

“Sorry, man. I thought this room was just Rick’s. I didn’t mean to bother you.” Glenn chuckled nervously and then stepped closer, holding out his hand to Daryl.

Daryl stared at the appendage as if he had no idea what a handshake was, shrinking minutely back onto the bed and looking at Glenn with narrowed eyes from beneath his fringe of unruly hair. After a moment Glenn dropped his hand down to his side and stepped over to Rick. “Um…I was just coming to tell you we share a bathroom—I saw Lori in the hallway and she told me this room was yours—she forgot to mention…Daryl.”

“It’s okay. Daryl and I were just chatting, but maybe knock first next time, yeah?”

“Yeah. Definitely. My bad.” Glenn chuckled. “Anyway, the rest of the gang is going to dinner, you coming?”

“Sure.” Rick looked around his friend’s rail thin body to Daryl who was watching with a look of obvious distaste on his face. “Uh…you wanna come to dinner?”

Daryl shook his head. “Hell no. Don’t want ta go ta dinner wit’ a bunch of pansies.”

“I was just askin’.” Rick snapped before getting to his feet. “C’mon Glenn.” Rick commanded, a little more harshly than he intend, based on the way Glenn jumped to attention and followed Rick out the door of his room. Rick turned to close the door, not being able to help himself and searching out those crystal blue eyes. They connected gazes for a moment before Rick broke contact and shut the door.


	2. The Beast Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm starting to update all my stories, and of course I had to make sure I got to this one! I'm sorry it took a little longer than originally anticipated, but I am adoring this fic so far, and I hope you are as well. Hopefully updates will be coming more regularly now. I am really happy with how this chapter turned out and a lot of it is thanks to my lovely friend Jay!  
> You can find her on tumblr at ofcoltsandcrossbows or right here on AO3: (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayswing/pseuds/Jayswing)!
> 
> I hope you enjoy! And I promise quicker updates in the future, hopefully once a week at the vary least! I am so thankful to all of you who have left comments, kudos, or bookmarked this story. I appreciate all of you, it's for y'all this story is going to go as far as it is. I love it so far and I hope you do too. So don't fear! Thank you again for all the support.

"So, how is week two with the Beast?" Michonne asked casually as she slid in line next to Rick.

"I've told everyone to stop calling him that. He's really not that bad. If he wants to keep to himself, I'm not going to say anything." Rick shrugged as he picked up an apple from the display at the end of the food procession. Michonne reached across him and grabbed the apple from his hand, placing it on her own tray. He narrowed his eyes at her but grabbed another of the fruits and followed the confident woman over to a table in a corner where Glenn was already sitting, bent over a textbook and shoveling mac-n-cheese into his mouth as if he weren't even registering it.

Rick sat across the table from Glenn.

"It's only two weeks into school and you've already got your nose in a book." Michonne scoffed lightly as she took a seat next to Glenn.

"I was just passing the time till you guys got here." Glenn straightened up, closing the heavy book and putting it in his orange bag which he pushed under the table with his foot.

"How many times have I told you, sweetie, it's y'all—not you guys." Maggie appeared, taking her seat next to Glenn. The two shared a kiss as Michonne and Rick exchanged an eye rolling glance.

"How's everyone's day going?" Maggie asked as she dug into the mashed potatoes on her plate.

Michonne shrugged and Rick answered with a vague "all right."

"Where's the rest of the gang?" Maggie questioned to the small group in general.

"Lori's class gets out—" Rick checked his silver watch, "—right about now. She should be here soon, I think Shane said something about them having class in the same building so I'm figurin' he's just waiting on her."

Maggie nodded as she continued to eat, working her way through meatloaf that looked like it might come back alive at any moment. Glenn was eyeing it warily as he munched on his mac-n-cheese. The group ate quietly for a few moments, exchanging idle chit chat as they passed the time; no one had class for the rest of the day, so they were taking their time to enjoy the meal. The first two weeks of school had been hectic as everyone got settled in to a groove that worked with their various schedules, but they all knew how important it was to find a time where they were all free in order to hang out. They had learned the hard way sophomore year when everyone's schedules had conflicted so much that Rick only saw Glenn because he was his roommate and Michonne had flitted in and out of their lives like some sort of erratic moth attracted to light.

"Well, look who we found," came Shane's drawl as he dropped harshly into the seat on Rick's right, shaking the bench and, subsequently, the attached table they were sitting at.

"You knew we were going to be here," Maggie pointed out, gesturing her fork at him, green eyes narrowing slightly.

"Hey, baby," Lori appeared, sliding in next to Rick on his other side, pecking him on the cheek before taking a bite of her salad.

"How was class?" Rick asked her, to which she shrugged her skinny shoulders, flipping her hair behind her.

"You'll never guess who I ran the fuck into outside Lori's class, Rick, man." Shane spoke around a huge mouthful of sandwich.

"Who?" Rick inquired, his interest piqued by the tone of Shane's voice.

"Dixon. I think he was trying to hang around Lori, man. I'm tellin' you it was a good thing I was there."

"I'm sure," Michonne said, slightly under her breath, her dark brown eyes watching Shane with open dislike.

"I don't think he was hanging around Lori, Shane," Glenn spoke up before swallowing his food and looking down guiltily, his expression one of internal struggle.

Shane raised an eyebrow.

"Spit it out then, you gossip." Lori chuckled, her bright hazel eyes glimmering with intrigue.

"It's not my place to say anything, it's just something I heard."

Everyone at the table was watching Glenn now and he shifted uncomfortably on the bench, tugging his baseball cap lower over his brow.

"You can't just say somethin' like that and not tell us what's going on, if you've got any dirt on Dixon ya' gotta tell us," Shane interrogated. "It might be important for Rick to know, god forbid the Beast opens his ugly mug to tell Rick anything himself."

"It's really none of our business. If you don't want to tell us, you don't have to," Rick asserted, causing Shane to scoff and rip off another bite of his sandwich in annoyance.

"But, I would like to know something about him." Maggie mumbled. "I mean, he's got that whole dark and mysterious thing going on. I saw him sitting under a tree yesterday smoking a cigarette with something that looked a lot like blood on his shirt."

"It was clay," Rick amended, though there was a certain restrained amusement in his voice. "C'mon, Maggie, you've lived in Georgia you're whole life and you're gonna tell me ya' don't know the difference between mud and blood?"

Maggie shrugged.

"I heard he's been selling drugs in order to pay for school." Lori leaned forwards to whisper conspiratorially.

Michonne rolled her eyes at the admission.

"What? How else would someone like  _him_ afford UGA?" Lori leaned back with a haughty toss of her head.

"Oh, I don't know…scholarships, working through school? I know he works down at that mechanical shop down on Seventh Street, I see his truck out there most days on my way home from campus," Michonne admitted.

"So that's why he always smells like motor oil. I swear I've started to reek of it myself," Rick chuckled.

"Gross." Lori wrinkled her nose and leaned in to sniff Rick's curly hair above his ear. "You smell amazing, babe," she whispered in his ear, her breath caressing the sensitive curve of his ear. He could feel her sharp nails as they ran lovingly through his locks. He had the strange urge to pull away from her. He covered by leaning forward to snag a fry off of Maggie's plate.

"Well, I heard he likes to fuck freshman," Shane growled. "I don't know if I could stand to be around someone who takes advantage of younger women like that." He shook his head as if he was mourning the loss of these imaginary women's virtues.

"Unless he's doing it in broad daylight, that one's a lie too, he's home every night." Rick confirmed, beginning to feel like there was sand in every crease of his clothes, an itching, uncomfortable feeling crawling around his skin.

"Cool your jets, man. He's not one of us, why are you defending him?" Shane snorted.

"I live with the guy. I'd rather not get on his bad side."

"Good call, I bet he's got a nasty mean streak." Maggie shuddered a bit at the thought of Daryl's cruel eyes and large arms.

"I heard he was gay." Glenn blurted, though it was mumbled so quietly that everyone at the table stopped their bantering to stare, slack jawed at the top of Glenn's shiny black head of hair since he was bent over his food.

"'Cuse me?" Shane slurred in shock.

"I—I mean that's just what I've heard. Philip told Martinez who told Alex who told Sasha who I heard telling that mousey redheaded girl from down the hall." The tale fell from Glenn's mouth like a waterfall. He slammed his mouth closed over the words as soon as they had escaped, looking up and locking gazes with Rick, who was watching him steadily with an inscrutable expression.

Daryl? Gay? The two ideas didn't really fit, in fact they repelled as much as same sides of magnets. The rough redneck that Rick had been moving around like an opposite current the past two weeks did not ring to him as anything more than aggressively straight. Those rippling arm muscles and piercing, deep crystal eyes sang lady killer to Rick. Not that Rick had noticed those features in more than passing glance. Still, men picked up on the attractiveness of another male for territorial purposes, the more attractive, the more on guard around your girlfriend you had to be. It was normal, healthy even. Right?

"Fuck, if that guy's a fag, I'm a fuckin' princess." Shane laughed, shaking his head and slapping Rick on the shoulder. "Am I right?"

"Don't be an asshole, Shane. Like I said, it's none of our business." Rick's voice was deep and firm and Shane's smile slipped from his lips, replaced by a scowl that clouded his features, his brown eyes darkening.

"Ya' might wanna think about holdin' onto your man a little tighter there, Lor, before he starts doing the do with his new butt buddy," Shane growled with more acid than Rick figured was strictly necessary.

"Maybe he likes beefy meatheads," Michonne said casually taking a bit of her apple and giving Rick a small smile which he gratefully returned.

Lori watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, like a cat. "Shane isn't a queer," she sneered. "And neither is Rick. Right, babe?" Lori slipped her arm around his waist pulling herself closer to his side.

"For all we know," Glenn mumbled contritely, swallowing, "Daryl isn't gay, either. It was just something I heard."

"Exactly," Rick agreed. "Let's just not bring it up again, all right? Don't go running off and repeating that—especially when the guy isn't around to defend himself about it." The firmness of Rick's voice effectively put an end to the conversation, and the rest of dinner passed in quiet chit chat about mundane topics that Rick ignored. When everyone had finished, the small group of friends stepped out into the hot Georgia sunshine.

"I think I'm going to head back to my room," Rick informed everyone, beginning to walk away. Lori hooked her hand into the crook of his elbow and pulled him towards her.

"You could come back to my room," she whispered quietly, looking up at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

"Sounds great, Lor, but I'm really tired. Go have fun with everyone else; I'm just going to take a nap. I'll meet up with you later." He bent down to brush his lips quickly against hers and then untangled himself from her grip and jogged off. It took him about ten minutes to make it across campus back to his room. As he climbed the stairs he couldn't help but continue to turn the conversation from dinner over in his head. He had realized whilst everyone had been tossing about rumors and gossip that he knew absolutely nothing about his quiet roommate, despite that he was a forestry major. But, his mother had wrangled that out of Daryl.

In fact, Rick had hardly made any attempts to speak to the man any further than "hello"s, "goodbye"s, and "excuse me"s as they danced around each other in their small space. He got the feeling that Daryl was perfectly happy with this arrangement, but it dawned on Rick that he, himself, wasn't. He didn't want to spend his entire school year feeling like he was walking on eggshells. Daryl couldn't be that bad, he must've had roommates the past few years, and maybe none of them had ever tried to get close with the man. It wasn't like he exactly gave off the friendliest exterior, and Rick hadn't seen him interacting with anyone. Maybe all Daryl needed was someone to actually talk to him instead of talking  _about_  him.

And Rick had thought about the gay thing. He'd actually been thinking about it for most of the walk back. He thought it may bother him, at first. It wasn't that he was against it at all, he may be Southern, but his mother had never had it in her heart to hate on anyone, and his father took his job to 'uphold the law and protect the innocent' very seriously. So, there had never been any shaming in his household. Yet, he had been walking around the man in nothing but a  _towel_ , and, although he thought that may make him feel uncomfortable, he found it didn't really bother him.

If he was completely honest, Daryl was always the one who seemed more nervous whenever Rick stepped out of the bathroom to grab a new set of clothes. Daryl changed in the bathroom, come to think of it, and slept in a t-shirt. Rick didn't think he'd seen him in anything less then pants and a t-shirt in the past two weeks. He slept in just his boxers himself, and he was used to Glenn who also only slept in his underwear. He thought that it was just something that all guys did, but to each his own, he figured. Honestly, he shouldn't be thinking too hard about his roommate's sleepwear. That was weird, wasn't it?

Rick's thoughts were interrupted as he put the key in his door and opened it. He walked into the room to find Daryl sitting cross legged on the bed. He had a white cloth mostly marred by a thick black substance and his crossbow in his lap. He didn't lift his head as Rick stepped into the dorm and closed the door behind him, dropping his satchel into the chair on his desk. He took a text book out of it and a pen before climbing onto his bed and leaning with his back against the wall, crossing his ankles and putting his book in his lap.

For a while the two roommates sat quietly, focused on their different projects. Finally, the silence wore down on Rick like a weight and, combined with his thoughts from earlier, he couldn't contain himself anymore.

"Hey, Daryl?" he began cautiously, placing the cap back on his pen and closing his book, laying them aside.

Daryl paused in his ministrations of apply the black substance to his bow but continued after a moment without acknowledging Rick.

"What are you doin'?" Rick cocked his head to the side, finding himself genuinely curious, much to his own surprise.

"The fuck it matter?" Daryl muttered.

"I'm just wonderin'. Ya' gotta clean it often?" Rick questioned, figuring if he just kept asking questions, Daryl would be forced to keep up the conversation.

"Unless ya' want a shitty fuckin' crossbow."

Rick watched him for a second more, noting how the tenseness of Daryl's shoulders seeped away as he slouched forwards again after a few moments of silence from Rick. He felt almost bad for wanting to break the peace. He watched for a second more as Daryl's large hands cradled the crossbow, supporting it as one would a newborn's head. When he was concentrating this hard, a lot of the roughness of his features melted into a smoother plane. He did not look soft, but the abrasiveness of his scowl was gone. Rick's keen eyes noticed that the crossbow's tan strap had been ripped in two, both ends frayed in a jagged tear. For someone who took such meticulous care of the weapon, the battered and tattered shoulder strap looked out of place.

"How'd you break the strap?"

Daryl paused and finally looked up; those crystalline blue eyes watched Rick with suspicion, though Rick knew he would find nothing but open curiosity there. Rick held Daryl's gaze calmly, as if he was attempting not to frighten away a particularly skittish dog. "My good for nothing, asshole brother broke it." Daryl allowed after he had seemingly determined Rick was not a threat.

"I didn't know you had a brother!" Rick exclaimed, almost overenthusiastically, clinging to the information like a lifeline. This was good, right? He was sure no one else knew that Daryl Dixon had a brother.

"Yeah, well…he ain't around, so's I pretty much don't." Daryl broke eye contact with Rick, looking back down and scrubbing harder than he had before at his crossbow.

"I have a brother, too," Rick offered. "I don't see him much since I came to school."

Daryl paused his ministrations on the weapon, and then began again, slower this time. Rick could see the corner of his mouth turned scarcely upwards. "Younger or older?"

Rick smiled despite attempting to keep himself controlled in the face of Daryl's wariness. "Younger, his name's Carl. He's annoying on his best days. He's seventeen, so he's at the age where he thinks he's right about everything." He chuckled and shook his head at the thought of his brother. "What about you?"

Daryl's lips twisted further up, though Rick couldn't tell if it was a grimace or a smile from the angle. "Merle. He's my dick of an older brother. He's in the military. Last I heard, he was stationed in South Carolina." Daryl shrugged his shoulders as if this information was useless, but Rick was internally doing a touchdown dance. He had broken through, wiggled himself just a little bit into the crevices of Daryl's cavernous mystery.

"Any other siblings?" Rick questioned.

Daryl shook his head, the smile slipping away from his lips.

Rick decided to move away from family. "So, forestry is your major? What got you into that?"

"Like the woods." He grunted. "Ain't no one botherin' me out there."

Rick nodded. "I can understand that, sometimes I just wanna get away."

Daryl looked up, his eyes flashing sharply at Rick. "Whadda ya' have to get away from?"

Rick smirked, ignoring the aggressive lit of Daryl's voice. "Don't tell her I said this," Rick leaned in a bit towards Daryl conspiratorially. "But my girlfriend can be a bit of a pain in my ass, sometimes."

Daryl snorted, surprised by the answer, and shook his head. "'S why I don't mess with 'em."

"So, no girlfriend?" Rick pried, knowing he was about to step into dangerous territory.

Daryl tensed for a moment before obviously forcing himself to drop his shoulders and relax. "Ain't got a fuckin' girlfriend."

"Boyfriend?" The word was passed Rick's lips before he fully registered what he was saying. He leaned back, holding his hands up slightly as Daryl sprang from the bed like he'd been electrocuted.

"Fuck did ya' just say?" he snarled, acting the part of a defensive predator, stepping towards Rick, who sat up straight as Daryl came towards him.

"Hey, it's fine." He held his hands up towards Daryl's chest in an effort to pacify him whilst also protecting himself from the likelihood of one of Daryl's clenched fists attempting to find contact with his head.

"I ain't a fuckin'—queer." He bit the word as if it burned his throat on the way out. Daryl reached forwards and grabbed Rick by the collar of his shirt. Rick made no move to shake Daryl off except to put one of his forearms against the front of Daryl's ribcage. He stared stoically into Daryl's ice blue eyes. "Who the fuck told ya' that? It was that damn gossiping Chinaman, wasn't it?" Daryl growled, his breath hot on Rick's face.

"No one said anything, Daryl, just calm down," Rick said carefully, keeping his voice low and even. He'd been practicing his come-down voice since he was old enough to know what it was. His father had always said it was a police officer's strongest weapon.

Daryl shoved away from Rick, sending him falling backwards on his bed. Rick bounced for a second, watching as Daryl crossed the room in three long strides and disappeared out into the hallway.

The door slammed behind Daryl as he stormed out of the room. He leaned against it, panting slightly and clenching his shaking hands against his thighs. That bastard didn't know anything. He couldn't. Daryl hadn't even so much as stared at his roommate since the first day of school, when it had been impossible for him to keep his eyes off the warm person that was Rick. Honestly, Daryl had spent the past two weeks with his nose buried in more books than he'd ever touched in his entire life, just to keep himself from watching the devastatingly handsome curve of Rick's jaw as he snacked on potato chips or the lithe muscles that rippled when Rick bent over to retrieve clothes from the bottom drawer of his dresser, draped in nothing more than a towel.

God, what kind of fucking pervert was he? The man had a girlfriend, for fuck's sake. He was too attractive, too friendly, too popular to even pay Daryl a moment's attention. Rick had practically avoided him since their first day together, not that Daryl could blame him. It wasn't like he had a squeaky clean reputation around campus. He had more chance in tap dancing on the moon then he had of even becoming friends with the man on the other side of the flimsy wooden door that currently separated them.

Daryl unclenched his fists and looked down at his hands, where he blankly registered eight crescent shaped cuts on his palms. He chewed his lip before pushing off the door and rolling his shoulders, attempting to work out some of the tension that was building there. The white walls of the corridor were beginning to close in around him and he could see black creeping into the corner of his vision as he attempted to force himself to take deep, shuddering breaths. He stumbled down the hallway, towards the elevators. He slammed his hand onto the down button and leaned against the opposite wall as he listened to the gears behind the metal doors before they slide open.

He stepped onto the elevator, bumping into a small redheaded woman who jumped about four feet away when his shoulder made contact with hers. "'Scuse me," he ground out, barely opening his mouth to force the words through. The girl's wide blue eyes sparkled as she looked at him in shock; she nodded mutely, accepting his apology before scurrying away.

Daryl watched the numbers go down as he stood in the elevator, counting the moment until the doors opened and he could escape out into the evening. The small breeze brushed against him as he stepped outside. He breathed in deeply the heavy Georgian air, looking out over the park across from his dorm building. The sun was setting behind the trees, casting long shadows over the campus. The sky was a shade of dusty purple, scattered with a few plum colored clouds that clung low on the horizon, promising rain.

He dug around in the loose pocket of his jeans, fishing out a smashed pack of cigarettes. He shook one out of the carton and lit it quickly. He inhaled a huge drag, filling his lungs and closing his eyes, turning his face towards the heavens. He held the smoke inside him for as long as he could, before slowly exhaling, opening his eyes and watching the pale line drift into oblivion.

"Hey! You have to be ten feet from any building front in order to light up! C'mon, man." Some kid was sitting on a bench next to the entrance watching him with a disapproving gaze.

Daryl flicked the asshole his middle finger before turning away from him and slipping down the alley that was made up of two dorm buildings standing near each other. It was about four feet wide, open at both ends and used as a short cut occasionally. Daryl walked until he was far enough in the shadows to avoid being seen from either street. He continued to puff on his cigarette, attempting to calm the rattle of his panicked mind.

He didn't know how he was going to be able to face Rick again after flying so defensively off the handle. The man had a gaze that could pierce metal, that Daryl felt like reached down into his soul and stole his most precious, darkest secrets. He must be able to see right through him, must be able to peer all the way into every mark and abrasion he'd ever had—physically and emotionally.

The sound of footsteps interrupted Daryl from his sinister and spiraling thoughts. Someone was coming towards him from the back side of the building. Daryl dropped his finished cigarette, crushing it with the toe of his boot. He turned to walk back towards the building not wanting to be in contact with anyone. He hoped Rick had the good sense to disappear for a while.

"Bye, guys! See you tomorrow!" He'd know that rumor-spreading, jovial voice anywhere.

Daryl stopped mid-step, all the anger that he had just forced down came roaring over him like a tsunami. He attempted to blink the red tinge to the edge of his eyes away, willed his feet to continue moving forward. His body did not listen to him and he found himself pressing against the brick wall, concealed in the shadow of twilight. Glenn's footsteps neared and with every movement of his tennis shoes; Daryl's heart beat harder and faster.

Glenn was practically on top of him before he stopped, his hand clasped around the strap of his flamboyantly colored backpack. "Hello? Is someone there?"

Daryl didn't say anything, he found himself holding his breath. He shouldn't be doing this. He wasn't someone who waited in dark alleys to jump people, but then Rick's voice rang in his mind.  _Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend_. It repeated with every rapid pulse of his heart.

Glenn took a cautious step forward. "C'mon, man, I know you're there." He chuckled nervously and the sound snapped Daryl into action.

He sprung forwards, grasping Glenn's white and blue shirt and lifting the smaller man off his feet. Glenn yelped in shock and Daryl slammed their foreheads together as he pressed his against the rough brick wall. "Shut the  _fuck_ up."

"I don't have anything. Let me go." Glenn attempted to punch him in the side but besides a small twinge from a rib that had previously been broken Daryl felt nothing, his anger shielding him.

"The fuck you been tellin' people about me?" Daryl growled, their noses practically pressed together they were so close together. Glenn quit struggling, his legs hanging limply a few inches off the ground. His hands loosely gripping Daryl's wrists.

"Daryl?"

"Fuckin' tellin' people I'm a fuckin' queer. How pansy ass ya' think people would think I was if I smeared your blood on this wall?" Daryl's voice was so distorted with anger he could barely recognize it himself.

"I—didn't. Daryl, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, I mean I don't care…if you are…" he chuckled humorlessly and Daryl could feel him gulp from where his knuckles where pressed against his throat.

"I'M NOT GAY!" Daryl roared in the kid's face, causing him to scrunch up his features against the sound.

"Yeah, yeah. Okay, I get it. Straight as an arrow. Can—can I go now?" Glenn asked meekly, dropping his hands from Daryl's wrists.

Daryl blinked once and then let go of Glenn without warning stepping back as the man crumpled over. He stood up and rubbed his throat. Daryl watched him from the shadows, his eyes hard and cold, his fists clenched at his sides, his arms shaking violently. "Get the fuck out of here." His voice was quiet but laced with venom.

"I'm really sorry, Daryl." Glenn looked down at his shoes, shifting his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"Go."

Glenn turned and jogged off, throwing one more look back at Daryl before slowing to a walk and disappearing around the side of their building. Daryl dug another cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with shaking fingers; it took him a few tries before the stick cherried. He closed his eyes and prayed that no one else disrupted him. He finished his cigarette in peace. Daryl sighed and dropped the cigarette to the ground, toeing it out. He felt much calmer, though his stomach twisted with anger of a different kind, self loathing coating his insides with a chill.

What kind of bastard threatened innocent people for no reason besides their own shortcomings? He knew exactly what kind of bastard and it wasn't who he ever wanted to be. He pressed his eyes closed and ran a hand over his face, drawing a shaky breath and scrubbing his fingers through his short beard.

Maybe Rick hadn't left yet and he could apologize for his behavior. He began to walk forwards but his foot caught something light, kicking it a few feet in front of him. When he reached it, he picked it up off the ground, turning it over in his hands.

It was a red and white baseball cap.

He sighed and beat it against his thigh once to dislodge any dirt it might've picked up in the alley. He folded it as much as it would bend and shoved it in his pocket.

Two apologies.


	3. Dusk and Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, I'm so, so sorry this took forever to write. With school starting back up I was absolutely swamped. I hope there are still those of you out there who want to read this. I'm going to be pretty snappy, so y'all can get going with your reading pleasure. Anyway, this chapter would be a piece of dirty garbage without the help of my lovely beta, and dear friend, Jay (http://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayswing/pseuds/Jayswing). Anyway, if you love Rickyl (which, I don't know why you'd be reading this if you don't) go check out her works: Switch and Under the Law, you won't be disappointed. 
> 
> Happy reading! I hope y'all don't hate me too much for making you wait.

Daryl smoked another cigarette as he made his way back towards the dorms, calming the rising turmoil churning in his gut. He dropped the spent butt to the ground, crushing it underneath his boot without breaking stride as he entered the building and headed towards the elevator. At the last moment, he turned towards the door, behind which were the stairs leading up. He began to climb, slowly, his tread echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Besides the reverberating sound of his feet hitting the metal stairs and his short, shallow breaths, there was no sound as he ascended.

His thoughts were coming so quickly, he felt as if he was watching them pass on a freeway, observing from the sidelines, detached as he attempted to keep from talking himself out of the conversation he was about to have. Daryl was not a long-winded individual by any means; long days of silence as a child for fear of his father’s wrath kept him decidedly quiet, to the point where second meetings we hardly ever requested.   

Growing up, he had come to take solace in the isolation under which he functioned, protected by his seeming social awkwardness. It had kept prying eyes away from him, the standoffish abrasiveness of his tone finishing the job for those too nosy to heed the warning signs of his silence. Teachers learned to look the other way, students learned to leave him alone on the playground. Even his own brother, with all his humor and blasé reactions, learned to tread lightly when Daryl was cornered.

He was beginning to discover though, that going through the world alone was a decidedly unpleasant way of life. Although he had no idea how to go about it, making friends seemed like a practical idea. He’d grown up with the hypothetical philosophy of ‘I’ll watch your back, if you’ll watch mine.’ It’d never exactly been put into practice, what with his brother dipping out on him when he was still just a child and practically everyone else dying on him. Yet, it seemed like a pretty smart way to navigate the world. And apologizing for being an asshole would probably be a good start to a friendship, and what better person to be friends with than the seemingly kind person you’re forced to spend time in a twelve-by-twelve room with for nine months.

Daryl found himself standing in front of his door, blinking in surprise, so deep in thought he hadn’t even realized how far he’d come. He stood with his key poised in his hand, ready to turn the handle, but voices drifted from the space beneath the door. He checked the corridor to make sure there was no one around before he pressed his ear carefully against the wood, attempting to hear the conversation going on inside. His keen senses picked up the deep, familiar inflection of his roommate’s calm, questioning tone and the indignant, raised voice of Glenn.

They were obviously mid-conversation, he could tell by the cadence of sounds slipping under the door, but their voices cut off abruptly. He’d been caught, and he knew it. His heart dropped into his stomach, and he could feel moisture begin to sprout on his palms. With a deep sigh through his nose he turned his key in the door and opened it, stepping into the room, eyes downcast. He looked up, his thumb immediately going to his mouth as he chewed on his cuticle, buying time.

Rick had gotten up from where he was sitting at his desk chair and stepped into the center of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest. Glenn stood as well, though he stayed sheepishly behind Rick. Before Daryl could formulate an apology, or an excuse, or anything, really, Rick spoke.

“Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t just— _attack_ —people in alleyways.” His voice was hard as flint, cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. His eyes were cold and distant, so unlike the friendly pools of crisp mountain water that they usually were.

“I—“ Daryl began but closed his mouth, unable to formulate the words.

“I get that you were upset. That’s understandable. That might be how you have dealt with problems in the past, but you’re a fucking adult, act like one. You can’t just pick a fight with anyone you have an issue with. ”

Daryl flinched and lowered his eyes. The insinuation that he’d ever actually hurt anyone innocent before—that he was just some rough and tumble guy who got into fights without thinking, that he was prone to violence—seared inside his soul. He had spent his entire life fighting with every fiber of his being to not be that bitter, angry person. He’d ripped apart his insides to keep from engaging with his peers, torn himself to pieces to refrain from becoming his father, from allowing the people closest to him go up in flames.

He reached behind him, slowly, his eyes flicked to Glenn’s before looking at the ground. The Korean’s eyes were wide and wary. Rick moved when he saw Daryl shift, rolling his shoulders backwards and taking a half step towards Daryl, blocking his way. His proximity made Daryl wince, as his hand wrapped around Glenn’s hat and he pulled it from his back pocket, holding it out in front of him, eyes on the worn, gnarled, hardwood floor.

He watched Glenn’s feet, saw them shift slightly, and he knew that the black-haired young man was looking to Rick. He heard the rustle of clothes, probably Rick shrugging, and then Glenn stepping towards him.

“Uh, thanks.” Glenn was careful not to touch him as he took the article of clothing back, slapping it against his thigh before placing it on his head.

Daryl peeled his eyes off the floor with an immense amount of effort. “Welcome,” he managed to bite out. He cleared his throat and looked Glenn in the eye. “I—er, sorry ‘bout what happened back there. Hope I didn’ hurt ya or nothin’. I’m—I’m not like that.” He shrugged his shoulders, as if to shake the animosity away.

“I’m sure you’re not.” Glenn smiled, bright and sunny and wholly out of place in the gloom of Daryl’s storm cloud of self-loathing. Daryl’s eyes flicked over his shoulder to Rick, who was watching the watching the exchange with a guarded expression, countenance turned to stone. There was a pregnant pause while Daryl and Rick stared at each other; Glenn’s dark, gleaming eyes flipped back and forth between the two silent roommates.

“Well, I’m gonna go,” Glenn said after a moment, though neither of the men replied. He walked towards the bathroom that adjoined to his own room. Opening the door, he turned to look back over his shoulder. “Hey, Daryl?”

Daryl blinked and looked away, a shiver running up his spine and heartbeat quickening, like he had been caught in a private moment, forgetting Glenn was there. He hummed in question at the man hovering in the doorway.

“There’s a corridor party this Saturday, and, as your friendly RA, I figured I should let you know. It’s a backyard mixer, you know…without the backyards. Anyway, you’re both invited. There’s gonna be pizza.” Without waiting for a response, Glenn slipped his rail-thin body through the door and vanished, closing it behind him with a soft click.

Daryl heard the springs on Rick’s bed creak as the man sunk onto it, leaning his elbows on his knees and running a hand over his face. Daryl turned to look at him, and found the strong, unmovable man who had been willing to take on someone twice his size, collapsed upon himself, looking utterly world-weary. Daryl went and sat down across from Rick on his own bed, the space between them so close that their knees were only a few inches apart. Daryl’s skin crawled from the closeness, but he didn’t allow himself to move away. He watched uneasily as Rick curled and uncurled his hands against his thighs, deep in thought. Daryl had realized Rick was a tactile person in the first few weeks of knowing him. He had balked at the idea at first, watching as Rick laid a casual hand on Shane’s shoulder or pushed Glenn sideways when they were sitting next to each other on the bed. Knots of anxiety had curled in his stomach like snakes at the idea of his nonchalant physical affection. Though, it hadn’t taken him long to notice several times Rick had reached towards him, only to curl his outstretched hand and drop it to his side. Daryl had grown to believe he would never be at ease enough to act on that kind of comfortable intimacy. Yet, as the weeks stretched on, he had begun to warm up to the idea. And, as he watched those long fingers splay out across the denim of Rick’s pants, he found that he didn’t exactly mind the image he had of them reaching out to brush against his threadbare jeans.

Rick looked up, surprise showing on his face at the proximity. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it, red lips pursing slightly in thought. He dropped his head back down to stare at his knees, at a loss for words.

“I ain’t never hit any one who didn’t deserve it,” Daryl stated. He blinked, slightly shocked that the words had escaped his lips so easily. There was nothing he needed to prove to Rick; yet, his words were filled with desperation, blunt and tactless.

Rick shifted his eyes so that Daryl could see their brilliant blue watching him steadily. Rick’s hands were pressed against his mouth, but Daryl could still hear the words that slipped through: “I shouldn’t’a suggested that. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, man. It ain’t your fault. I guess I done deserved it.” He snorted humorlessly.

Rick carded a hand through his thick curls as he lifted his head fully to look Daryl in the eye. Some of the strands fell onto his forehead, giving him a distinctly unkempt look. For a moment, Daryl had the sudden impulse to lean forward and push those curls back into place.

“No. You didn’t deserve that. I assumed—it wasn’t right of me. Although, assaulting people in an alley isn’t really a great way to solve problems.” Rick raised an eyebrow as he spoke, his face breaking from its cold facade into the easiness that Daryl had come to know.

“I know that,” Daryl snapped defensively, leaning back and crossing his arms, subconsciously flexing his impressive biceps.

Rick’s eyes flicked down to the movement before looking back up, his eyes softer than they had been before. “Not a very good way to make friends, either.” The side of his lip curled up slightly, blue eyes twinkling.

Daryl shook his head. “Who the hell said I wanted to make friends?”

“No one,” Rick relented without argument.

There was a pause, and Daryl really didn’t like that look in Rick’s eye.

“But, I wouldn’t be opposed, if you weren’t.” It was the vulnerable way that Rick said it, all the joking gone from his countenance. He held Daryl’s gaze, soft and sure and steady.

Daryl felt something shift inside him, a strange feeling he didn’t know if he was particularly comfortable with. It spread throughout his body, a warmth that lit him from the inside like a sun. The idea hit him hard—friends, with _Rick Grimes,_ the man who surrounded himself with people not because he gave his friendship easily, but because he genuinely enjoyed their company. The concept was foreign and frightening to him. He could feel the weight of the statement on him as if he were Atlas, holding the world up. Rick looked at him, naked and trusting and willing to jump into this void of friendship together. Something in Daryl told him that if he said yes, there would be no turning back. No ledge to cling to if it all went wrong.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, catching it on his teeth and biting hard. Without looking away from Rick’s steel gaze he nodded his head, just a fraction of an inch. Rick smiled; it was small, not overly enthusiastic or friendly. One that implied he was deep in thought, solemn and distant.

IIIIIIIIIIIII

Saturday found Daryl feeling like his skin did not fit him properly, a sensation that had started since his conversation with Rick a few days ago. Nothing had really changed between Rick and him—not that he was expecting any friendship bracelets of gossiping sessions. He would’ve called the whole thing off right then and there, sworn off friends forever, if that had been the case. They had eaten lunch in the cafeteria once or twice, compared schedules and walked to classes they had in the same building. Once, Rick had called and asked if Daryl could come get him from Michonne’s.

He had been hesitant to say yes, wondering what it was Rick really wanted, or if he was expected to request something in return. When Rick got in the car, quiet and comfortable, like this wasn’t unusual and unnatural for Daryl, his fears were put to rest.

Yes, Daryl hadn’t really slipped easily into the role of a friend, but, if there was anyone to choose as your first companion, Rick was it. He wasn’t clingy—quite the opposite, actually. Daryl found himself missing Rick’s company when he was in class or gallivanting off with his other friends; a possessive streak that Daryl hadn’t been aware of flared whenever he saw Rick with Lori or Shane or even Michonne, though hatred for such a refreshingly sarcastic, gorgeous woman didn’t come easily.

Daryl would even tentatively say that he was becoming friends with Glenn as well, despite their somewhat rocky start. Currently, the two of them could be found arguing in the doorway of Rick and Daryl’s room. Daryl had a hand firmly on the handle, his other on Glenn’s chest, blocking him from entering.

“I told you to git, we ain’t leavin’ the door open,” Daryl bit out between clenched teeth.

“Come on, Daryl! Everyone else has their door open for the party, what kind of vibe does that give off?” Glenn whined, pouting about his stupid pizza social that he’d been chattering about, sitting cross-legged on Daryl’s bed, all week.

“It gives off the ‘I don’t want anyone stealin’ my shit’ vibe.” Daryl heard Rick snort in amusement from where he was watching the exchange behind him.

“C’mon, Rick,” Glenn pleaded with his friend, looking past Daryl’s shoulders, stepping back and dropping his shoulders with a sigh.

Daryl dropped his hand, watching the man who was doing a very good job impersonating a kicked puppy. Daryl shook his head with a smirk; that was _not_ how a grown man should ever look.

“What if I offered you free beer?” Glenn perked up after a few moments of quiet brooding.

“I thought all the beer was free,” Rick pointed out helpfully.

Glenn shot him a look and opened his mouth, another argument on the tip of his tongue.

“All righ’, I’ll keep the fuckin’ door open, but if any of my shit’s gone, you get an arrow in the ass,” Daryl threatened.

“Sweet!” Glenn exclaimed, running off to down the hall to join a few people who had already begun to mingle.

"Daryl,” Rick warned from behind him.

Daryl turned to lean against the door frame, one leg propped up casually. Rick was standing close, the proximity making Daryl’s skin itch inexplicably. “I was just joking.” Daryl shrugged casually, clearing his throat and looking away for a moment. Rick was silent, but Daryl could feel his eyes on him, he finally turned back to his friend.

"All right.” Rick looked him up and down, as if he didn’t trust him completely, though the action was mainly teasing.

A thrill ran through Daryl’s body at those inquisitive, kind eyes searching him closely for signs of deceit.

“You comin’?” Rick asked as he stepped around Daryl, close enough that he could smell the spice of his aftershave clinging to his skin.

Daryl nodded and hummed, following Rick, eyes on the heels of his cowboy boots as they made their way into the crowd.

IIIIIIIIIIIII

Rick scanned the group of people mingling in the hall, keenly aware of Daryl pressed behind him, as close as he could get without actually touching. Daryl thought he was good at hiding it, but Rick had seen the few moments in their time together when Daryl’s hand would twitch with the urge to reach out towards Rick. Every time, Rick fought the confusing flame of affection that curled inside his stomach.

He spotted Michonne leaning casually against the vending machine, munching on a piece of pizza and scrutinizing the crowd with a sharp eye. When she spotted the pair approaching, her lips pulled back in a smile. She swallowed as they stopped in front of her, Daryl slightly behind Rick.

“Gentlemen,” Michonne greeted with that amused lilt to her voice that Rick had come to love in their years of friendship. Though, it _had_ confused him greatly at first, unsure how to take any of her comments.

“What are you doing here?” Rick questioned with a grin.

“You forget ya’ don’t live here again?” Daryl chimed in, a smirk playing on his lips.

Pride swelled in Rick’s chest, utterly absurd, but Daryl’s openness with Michonne and Glenn had enthused Rick greatly over the past few days. He had been surprisingly receptive to most of Rick’s friends, cordial, at first, but growing more bold by the day with teasing and banter.

“Nope, I’m just here for the free pizza. Obviously.” Michonne took another bite to emphasize her point, Rick shook his head in amusement.

"Hey, baby!” could be heard shouted loudly from the throng of people, which parted to reveal Lori walking towards them, her hair done up in an intricate braid, Shane following behind her.

Daryl sidestepped out of the way as Lori wiggled under Rick’s arm, wrapping herself around his waist and tilting her head back for a kiss. Rick gently placed his lips on hers before looking back up to say something else to Michonne, though he found her spot against the wall gone. He looked around questioningly.

Daryl caught his eye and nodded towards the crowd, a slight amused glint in his eye. Rick followed his gaze and found Michonne chatting up a curvy blonde on the other side of the corridor.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you since last night!” Lori harrumphed.

“God forbid,” Rick heard Daryl mutter under his breath from where he had moved to occupy Michonne’s empty place against the wall.

“The fuck was that, Dixon?” Shane snapped, stepping towards Daryl, puffing his chest out in some archaic display of masculinity.

Daryl didn’t flinch, unsurprised by the move. Rick grabbed Shane’s arm and tugged him back, forcefully. Daryl blinked in surprise, his expression mirrored on Shane’s face.

"Defending Dixons now, Rick?” Shane growled, uneasy. His beady black eyes were watching Daryl distrustfully.

“Defending my friend, actually,” Rick responded nonchalantly. He turned to Daryl, noting the slightly panicked, trapped look starting to cloud the other man’s features. “Hey, let’s go find Glenn; I’ve gotta ask him something.” He looked down at Lori, who had been silent during the whole exchange, content to drape herself across her boyfriend and let the boys go at it. “I’ll be right back, wait here.” He kissed her quickly on the lips before detangling himself and moving away, feeling more than seeing Daryl fall in step right behind him.

They were making their through a crowd, a lot more people than those who lived there on the fifth floor; obviously, word of the party had spread. People were crammed together and someone had started playing music, which drifted into the hall from their room. The mass had begun to move, dancing to the beat, pushing each other around in the boorish way that college students do. Daryl stumbled forward unexpectedly when a young, tipsy girl smashed into him from behind. His hand reached out and caught the tail of Rick’s button up with desperate fingers. Rick turned when he noticed he could feel Daryl shaking through the hand fisted in Rick’s shirt, taking in his friend’s hunched shoulders and wide, startled eyes.

Rick knew Daryl had an issue with space and touching. Combining the two had been a singularly bad idea, and it felt like a punch in the gut when he realized he’d caused Daryl’s current defensive posture—poised to receive another attack. Instead of heading towards Glenn, Rick altered their course for their room, which was at the end of the hallway and a relatively safe distance from the bulk of the crowd. He was slightly surprised when Daryl did not let go of his shirt—instead, holding onto it like an elephant’s tail. The top button dug against Rick’s throat, yet he hardly noticed as he led them towards their room.

His mind had been so singularly focused on removing Daryl from the crowd he didn’t notice that Daryl had stopped until he was pulled slightly backwards. Rick stopped and turned his head to raise an eyebrow at his companion, who didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were glazed over slightly, his mouth open in a small ‘o’. Rick’s heart sped up; this must be some sort of reaction to the crowd, he realized—a defense mechanism to separate himself from the room. Rick stepped back, bringing himself closer to his friend, who had rooted himself to the spot. Rick placed a hand gently on Daryl’s hip, a questioning touch, light and unobtrusive.

Daryl’s head snapped towards Rick, obviously startled by the touch but not flinching away, his eyes were bright and questioning. “Ya hear that?”

Rick pressed his lips together in concentration, slightly surprised by the question. He cocked his head, straining his ears but all he heard was the wave of conversations and the distant beat of a thumping bass. After a moment, he shook his head. “No, I—“ Suddenly, there was a crash, and all conversation abruptly ceased, as if someone had taken the needle off a record player. The bass continued to beat in the background, but the crowd had stilled.

“How dare you?!” The three words were bellowed over the music. Daryl jumped at the volume of the voice and released Rick’s shirt. The argument was coming from a room on the other side of the hall. Rick looked around, heart in his throat, and realized that everyone was standing in shock, looking around at their friends or whispering quietly in conspiracy.

The quiet tone of a pacifying female voice could be heard, then a shout. The sudden cry spurred Rick into action, and he went towards the sound of the argument. He did it without thought, weaving in and out of shocked and still crowd. It wasn’t even until he was in the doorway that he realized Daryl was following the path he was making through the crowd.

The door hung open, like everyone else on the hall’s, and a damning image awaited them inside. A burly man had his meaty hand wrapped fully around a small woman’s bicep. She was on her knees, propped up only by the man’s grip on her. Her nose was bleeding, a river diluted by tears as it dripped down her chin and onto the floor. The man was red-faced and sweating.

“What are you doing?” Rick cried, springing into action before he could think about how this man was two times his size and could easily beat him into a pulp. The man dropped his prey and turned towards Rick, who had a fist raised and managed to catch the oaf in the stomach before he was completely aware of what was happening. The beefy man came back swinging from his hunched position, catching Rick in the cheek and making stars explode in front of his eyes. As he stumbled to the side, blinking to dislodge the dark spots in his vision, he saw a dark blur streak past, landing a solid punch to the man’s nose. The man’s head snapped back and the blur, who Rick had identified as Daryl, jumped to the side as the man swung out blindly. He wasn’t quite quick enough, and the club-like hand clipped Daryl’s side.

Rick jumped back into the fray, on Daryl’s other side. They shared a look, both fists raised in a defensive position, and nodded slightly. Rick threw a punch, distracting the burly man, who blocked the hit easily but left his right side open where Daryl darted around, grabbing the man around his thick neck and throwing his weight backwards. The man gagged and flailed for a moment before jabbing an elbow backwards into Daryl’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Yet Daryl hung on, clamping his hand around his other wrist. Rick, hearing the choked sound of air leaving Daryl’s lungs, let loose a feral growl, throwing everything he had into a punch to the man’s solar plexus. The man let out a cough and dropped to his knees.

Daryl’s hair had fallen into his eyes, and he was panting heavily when he looked up at Rick. As they stood, breathless and sweating, one on each side of the defeated man, Rick felt something stir in his gut. Daryl’s blue eyes were hard as ice, though they melted slightly as Rick met his gaze. Rick nodded sharply, and Daryl curled a lip in understanding. He straightened up, pulling the fat man by the hair, who squealed pathetically.

They left the room and Rick came back to his senses, noticing the room for the first time. There was a lamp shattered on the floor, and, not far from it, he saw Lori sitting on the ground. She had pulled the redheaded girl into her lap, currently wiping the blood and tears from her face with the corner of her flannel shirt. He vaguely noticed that someone had shut off the music. In its place, the woman’s sobs echoed hauntingly in the room. He turned to watch Daryl leave with the offender, the crowd who had spilled partially into the room parting in shock to let them through.

Shane was standing in the front of the small group, his arms crossed over his chest and his dark eyes stormy. He met Rick’s stare and then turned and walked away, rubbing a hand agitatedly through his hair as he left. Rick brushed a hand over his face, where something was tickling his cheek. He was slightly surprised to find blood on his hand when he pulled it away. The bastard must’ve clipped him pretty good, though the adrenaline still slipped through his veins like an energy shot, and he couldn’t feel the bruise forming under the thin skin below his eye.

The guy had some power behind his punch, and Rick could see again in his mind’s eye the man’s elbow jamming into Daryl’s stomach. He clenched his teeth and shook his head before looking at the crowd. “All right, people, show’s over. Go back to the party.” The party-goers reluctantly turned and left. Michonne was the last to leave, closing the door with a soft click behind her. Rick walked over to kneel down next to his girlfriend and the woman who was still weeping into Lori’s shirt, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” over and over.

“Miss…”

“Carol,” Lori whispered quietly to Rick. They shared a short but heavy look.

“Carol, sweetheart, is this the first time he’s hit you?”

“Ed,” Carol wailed, her voice muffled by where her head was buried against Lori’s chest.

Rick sighed and placed a hand on the woman’s back gently. “Is this the first time Ed hit you?”

Carol hiccupped through her tears and shook her head violently, too ashamed to meet Rick’s eye. Rick brushed a hand gently over the woman’s dark red hair before standing. “I’m sorry this happened to you,” he said quietly. “We are going to call campus police, now, is that all right? Will you talk to them?”

Carol straightened up, pushing away from Lori who dropped her hands obligingly. Rick was startled by her indisputably blue eyes, still shimmering with tears but holding Rick’s gaze steadily. “Yes. Yes, I’ll talk to them.” Her voice did not shake.

Rick nodded at her with a tight-lipped smile, sympathy clear in his eyes, before stepping out of the room, leaving Lori to tend to the poor woman. He crossed the hall, the party had dissipated and the hallway was clear. Michonne stepped out of the small kitchen area when she heard him approach. “I just got off the phone with campus security. They’re on their way. Glenn and Daryl are downstairs in the lobby with that bastard.”

“Thanks, Michonne.” Rick smiled weakly at her. Exhaustion began to seep into his bones as the fight went out of him.

She touched the tender spot below his eye. “Do you need help cleaning that?”

Rick shook his head and placed a hand on her wrist, pulling her away from his injury. “I’m all right.”

Michonne nodded and moved off.

Rick leaned against the inside of his door when he closed it behind him. Shutting out the world on the other side. He didn’t know how long he stood there, his head tilted backwards, eyes closed, just breathing, before there was a knock. For a moment, Rick considered not answering it, but, then, he realized that it must be Daryl, without his keys. Sure enough, he opened it to see the haggard man on the other side. He looked as drained as Rick felt.

“Hey,” Daryl greeted sheepishly, moving past Rick into the room. Rick checked the hall before closing the door and locking the deadbolt.

"Hey.” Rick followed Daryl into the room, going into the bathroom and running a washcloth under the water. When he came back out Daryl was sitting on the bed, his chest rising and falling in short spasms. Rick sat down across from him and held the cool rag to his face, soothing the throb under his skin. “You okay?” Rick asked, his eyes watching as Daryl probed his ribs.

“Ain’t broken,” Daryl reported.

“How do you know?” Rick asked skeptically, his eyebrow raised in concern.

“Jus’ know.” Daryl deflected. Rick’s keen eyes searched his for a moment more, but the closed look in them told Rick this was not a subject Daryl was willing to broach. Rick could see something much darker and deeper was hidden behind that impenetrable shield.Rick took inventory of his friend, noting that his hair was slightly mussed, but he had avoided any obvious injury apart from his ribs. There was blood on the knuckles of his right hand, but Rick was sure it wasn’t his.

After a few moments of silence Rick stretched his hand empty hand out to Daryl, palm up. Daryl looked at it from under his eyelashes, confusion and hesitation written all over his face. Rick flexed his fingers in a ‘come here’ gesture. Daryl bit his lips but flicked his eyes to Rick before placing his warm, dry palm in Rick’s. Rick wrapped his hand gently around Daryl’s before removing the washcloth from where it was pressed against his cheek and dabbing gently at Daryl’s knuckles, methodically wiping the blood off the uninjured skin, his heart pounding absurdly in his throat. He avoided Daryl’s eyes until he was finished, afraid the other man could feel his quickened pulse against the thin skin of his wrist.

When he was done he went to pull back but Daryl quickly flipped his hand over and snatched the cloth away from Rick. Rick looked at him, startled, the expression mirrored in Daryl’s own eyes, as if his hand had acted of its own accord. Daryl blinked and then smiled, a tight-lipped, shy smile.

“Ya’ missed a spot,” he commented, gesturing towards Rick’s face. “I—“

Rick saw the rugged man struggling for the words, saw the strain that maintaining eye contact was causing him. Rick nodded in understanding. He was surprised when Daryl leaned forwards, the hand that wasn’t holding the washcloth coming up to tangle in the curls at the back of Rick’s hair. Pleasant jolts of electricity made Rick want to simultaneously pull away and lean into the touch. Instead, he sat perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe, aware that the slightest movement might disturb the man as he cleaned Rick’s cut with more gentleness than he ever thought those calloused hands were capable of.

After what seemed like years, Daryl released Rick’s hair and leaned back, dropping his eyes sheepishly and holding the soiled washcloth out to Rick, who took it, their fingertips brushing, punishing him with another shock through his system. Both of them jumped slightly and the washcloth fell on the floor between them as they let go in surprise. Their eyes met, blues tangling together like dusk and dawn. They stared at each other for a long moment, the washcloth forgotten on the ground between them. After a while, Daryl looked away, long lashes fluttering as his eyes closed, concealing his emotions from Rick.

“What a party,” Daryl commented gruffly.

“Yeah,” Rick breathed, blinking away all the confusing emotions that were swirling inside him new and brilliant, like stardust.

“Well, I’m beat. Gonna head to bed.” Daryl stood and moved away, disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door with a click, leaving Rick breathless on his bed, staring at the spot that his roommate, his friend, had just been occupying.


	4. Eye of the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's the next chapter, I hope you like. Also, if there is anything y'all would like to see we have a whole school year to get through, so there is gonna be a few filler stuff I haven't quite worked out yet...if you're really yearning for something just let me know and I'll see if I can work it in.
> 
> As always this piece would be a mess without Jay, so thank you, darling. <3

The rain pelted against the dorm room window. Rick couldn’t concentrate, finding himself paying more attention to the droplets sliding down the glass than the Law and Humanities book open in his lap. With a sigh, he flipped the textbook closed over his blank page of notes and tossed it onto his desk from his spot on the bed. He stretched his hands up before dropping them heavily against his thighs, resting his head back on the wall he was leaning on, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, they fell on the bed parallel to his. It was empty, its owner having left for class a few hours ago.

The navy blue sheets were bunched and twisted at the bottom, like they always were. Rick didn’t think he’d ever seen Daryl make his bed. He’d had it drilled into his own head by his mother, every day of his life so it was almost second nature to him, but Daryl left them haphazardly piled at the foot of the bed, one corner dangling towards the linoleum floor. At first, Rick had thought the other man got hot in his sleep and kicked his sheets off in a fit of discomfort, but the weather had cooled recently, a decent nip to the air at night when the sun’s warmth disappeared from the sky. Yet, every morning, there they lay, cotton sheets in disarray.

Rick suspected Daryl suffered from nightmares. If the almost constant dark circles under his eyes weren’t enough of a giveaway, then the sheets consistently coiled ominously like snakes at the bottom of his roommate’s bed definitely were. It was just a suspicion, though. He’d never actually caught Daryl in the throes of a nightmare. He must keep silent, since Rick was an irritatingly light sleeper. Even when he was up doing homework, Daryl had always slept peacefully, turned towards the wall, curled around his pillow like a cat. It was an oddly endearing way for the rough-cut man to sleep. 

Rick was jolted from his wondering thoughts by the piercing sound of the fire alarm screeching on, disturbing the sleepy Thursday afternoon. Rick’s heart jumped into his throat for a moment before he relaxed again with a shaky chuckle. He slipped on his shoes and jean jacket, digging in the closet for his umbrella. He found it on the top shelf, next to Daryl’s crossbow, and pulled it towards him. A loose crossbow bolt rolled off the shelf and tumbled to the ground. He hesitated for a second, before picking it up with a murmured, “shit,” and placing it carefully back in the closet. He patted his pocket to make sure he had his keys before heading into the hallway. He followed the crowd down the stairwell, a school of fish following the current.

A few feet ahead of him he spotted a familiar twist of long dark hair pulled back by a colorful strip of cloth. He squeezed past a few first years who opened their mouths indignantly, only to snap them shut again when they recognized Rick as a senior. He muttered an “excuse me” as he went, catching up to Michonne. He couldn’t fit in beside her since the narrow staircase was packed full. Instead, he walked behind her for a flight, attempting to listen in on the conversation she was having with the blonde from his floor. He couldn’t pick up a word over the various complaints being tossed around by the people around him and the echoing blare of the fire alarm.

He waited until the crowd spilled out into the road in front of the dorm building to say anything, listening instead to the opening of several umbrellas, like birds taking off in flight. “Why don’t you go burn your own house down?” Rick teased with a smile.

Michonne whipped around with as much grace as she could manage while holding the purple umbrella for both her and the blonde. “How’d you know it was me?” she asked, mockingly contrite.

“I know your cookin’,” he replied, a crooked grin gracing his features.

“I think your cooking’s great.” The shorter blonde at Michonne’s shoulder stood up straighter, her head almost bumping the silver metal of the umbrella.

“Andrea, this is Rick, he’s my pain-in-the-ass best friend,” Michonne introduced, waving a hand dismissively at Rick, who was really smiling now.

“How do ya’ do?” Rick greeted the pretty woman, who was giving him an assessing look with sharp blue eyes.

“I’m all right. You’re Lori’s boyfriend, aren’t you?”

Rick felt his eyebrow twitch slightly and his bottom lip rolled inwards, catching on his teeth. He dipped his head slightly, his black umbrella knocking the side of Michonne’s. “Ya know Lori?”

“We share a bathroom,” Andrea explained simply with a shrug, avoiding Rick’s gaze.

Rick looked from Michonne to Andrea and back again before shaking his head and letting out a breathy chuckle. “Michonne been givin’ ya’ the wrong impression?”

Andrea looked up at him, startled, eyes that had been narrowed in judgment widened at his bluntness. “I just—I didn’t—“

“It’s all right, Rick knows his girl is a piece of work,” Michonne cut in, bumping Rick’s umbrella with her own rather than touching their shoulders, as she normally would.

“Watch it,” Rick warned, but there was no heat behind the words. He knew that Michonne really didn’t mean anything by it—her distaste for Lori had been established early on in their friendship. Rick thought that his nonchalance about the animosity—for the feeling was definitely mutual between the two women—probably shouldn’t be as casual as it was. He never defended his girlfriend, and, deep in his gut he knew there was something wrong with that.

Speaking of Lori, he hadn’t seen her exiting her room, and he knew she didn’t have class this afternoon. He turned away from Michonne and Andrea, who had gone back to their previous discussion. He moved off a few steps, trying to get a better view of the crowd; Horvath house was one of the bigger dorm buildings on campus, and there were hundreds of students milling about.

The collage of umbrellas made it hard to make out anyone’s faces from underneath their shadows, and the gray sky did nothing to aid in his search. He wandered away from the front of the building, weaving through people with nondescript faces until he was standing near the edge of the crowd on the other side of the street near the park. He stood on sidewalk, using the toe of his boot to uproot weeds growing in the cracks out of boredom.

The wind picked up slightly, spraying his back with icy droplets, and he stood straighter, body shivering in shock. It was then that he looked across the park to the other side of the block, noticing a figure walking towards the building, hunched forward and hands shoved in their pockets. Another gust of wind split the white sheets of rain suddenly. Rick glimpsed the tattered jeans and leather vest through the break in the rain, realizing it was a waterlogged Daryl walking towards him.

With a smile, Rick strode over to meet Daryl halfway. Daryl was watching his feet as he walked, Rick could see the top of his brown hair as he marched through the storm. He stopped a few feet away and let Daryl approach him, his hip cocked to the side and eyebrow raised. It took a few more seconds for Daryl to lift his head with a surprised look on his face, which was covered with clay, red running down his cheeks like russet tears, exaggerating the startling blue of his eyes.

“The fuck ya’ doin’ out here, Grimes?” Daryl questioned, but then looked over Rick’s shoulder and noticed the crowd. “Fire drill,” the observant man answered his own question with a shake of head, mussing his hair, which stuck to the side of his face in loops.

Rick just smiled and nodded. “It won’t be for much longer, they ain’t gonna keep us out in the rain.”

“Bastards,” Daryl muttered under his breath, pulling his shoulders forwards more and rubbing the side of his face against the top of his leather vest. He looked back at Rick with one eye closed, a red trail of clay running down from his hairline.

Rick’s fingers twitched forwards, intent on brushing the offending material from Daryl’s unblemished face. He covered the movement quickly by shoving his own hand down into his pocket and stretching the arm that held his umbrella out towards Daryl, who looked out at him wearily from his good eye.

“I ain’t gettin’ under there,” Daryl snapped.

“You’re gonna get sick,” Rick argued, the smile slipping from his face, replaced by a thin line of determination. 

“I’m already soaked to the fuckin’ bone.”

“Just get under here. There’s plenty of room.” Rick gestured with the umbrella again. He wanted to take a step forwards and just bring Daryl under the cover of the canopy, but he knew that he’d probably just walk away with a black eye. Daryl had to choose to enter Rick’s space; it wasn’t going to work the other way around. He held the umbrella out so far he could feel the run off of rain going down the back of his shirt, a piece of the metal catching on one of the curls at the nape of his neck.

After a moment, a sliver of blue iris rolled towards Rick. Daryl stepped forwards and under the shelter of Rick’s umbrella. Rick sucked in a breath that he hoped was covered by the sound of the rain on the fabric above them. He’d never been quite so close to the other man; their shoulders were centimeters from touching, and he could feel the heat of Daryl’s bare arms radiating off him like rays from the sun. He felt like it was burning him.

His heart was pounding against his chest, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. They stood like that for a moment, Daryl as still as he could possibly be. Rick glanced down to check if the man, who was doing his best impression of a statue, was even breathing. He was, but barely, his chest rising and falling in short pants of air. Rick’s fingers tingled with the urge to soothe, but he knew that his touch would be unwelcome, and, though it left a hollow feeling behind his ribcage, he resisted the urge to even bump shoulders with his friend.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world,” Rick observed. It was supposed to be a joke, meant to elevate the crushing weight that seemed to come with existing within Daryl’s personal bubble, but his voice betrayed him.

Rick saw Daryl’s open eye slid over towards him, looking him up and down curiously. “This ain’t the comfiest I’ve ever been,” he admitted with a grunt, reaching up to rub the dirt out of his eye. He moved his hand to his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, slicking it down against his scalp.

“When was?” Rick let the words spill out of his mouth without a thought, too distracted by the pale skin of Daryl’s forehead. He blinked, startled, realizing that he had been _distracted_ by something so arbitrary about the man. _That’s weird_.

“When was what?” Daryl asked his voice gravelly but not exactly annoyed. He wasn’t looking at Rick, a fact which Rick found particularly comforting as he tried to control the blush that was rising to the surface of his cheeks like oil on water.

 _This is your friend, man. Get it together. What is wrong with you?_ His thoughts were panicked as he tried to swallow around his suddenly dry throat. He felt inexplicably parched as he watched the path of a rain drop slide down the side of Daryl’s neck, oddly transfixed. _Jesus._ He snapped his attention to the crowd a few yards away which had begun to shuffle forwards.

“Uh—“ Rick cleared his throat, “looks like they’re letting people back in.”

Daryl turned his head slightly, resting both of his keen, crystal eyes on Rick’s face. “Looks like,” he agreed without taking his attention off Rick.

Rick could’ve sworn he saw Daryl’s eyes flick down to the faint blush that he was still struggling to beat back. “Wanna go in?” Rick’s gaze skittered away from Daryl, turning towards the dorm and walking forward without waiting for a response.

Daryl matched his strides easily as they walked side by side back towards their building. It was quiet. Rick was reeling from the intense reaction that he had experienced not a moment before. The tightness in his throat was still there, Adam’s apple bobbing several times as he tried to swallow. He felt too hot in his skin. The crisp bite of the wind couldn’t cool him.

“Rick!”

He nearly jumped out of his too-tight skin at the sound of his name, stumbling slightly and bumping his shoulder against Daryl’s. Both of them sprang away, eyes wide. For a moment they stared at each other in shock, before Rick’s gaze flickered down to the movement of Daryl’s hand as he unclenched it. Rick gave him an apologetic smile, which Daryl must’ve accepted because he cautiously stepped back under the shelter of the umbrella.

The owner of the voice finally caught up to them, smacking Rick on the shoulder with a smile. It was Glenn. Maggie was hovering on his other side, holding their umbrella between them.

“Hey, Daryl!” he greeted when he realized who was walking with Rick.

Daryl gave him a short nod in acknowledgement, a vast improvement from just a few days before.

“What’s up, man?” Glenn asked, turning his attention back to Rick.

“Nothin’ really, goin’ back up to the room. Not sure what I’m gonna do though, homework wasn’t really gettin’ done before and now I’m definitely too distracted.” Rick shrugged slightly.

“Well, I’ve got those cards from the Alice and Wonderland scavenger hunt I had to do with the other RAs over the summer. We could play a game.”

“You gamble, Short Round?” Daryl had raised an eyebrow, a twisted smirk playing on his face.

Glenn grinned sheepishly. “I was thinkin’ more along the lines of Go Fish.”

Daryl snorted in amusement.

“Ain’t nothin’ better goin’ on,” Maggie said, coming to defense of her boyfriend.

“I’m down,” Rick agreed.

“Fine, but I’m gonna kick all y’all’s asses,” Daryl conceded.

“Good, I already invited Michonne and that girl she was with, Andrea. I didn’t see Lori or Shane, but I guess we could text them.”

Rick shrugged his shoulders in a noncommittal gesture, the mention of his girlfriend stirring his gut with confusion. As they entered the building Daryl reached for the umbrella, wrapping his hand just above Rick’s and tugging gently. Startled, Rick let go and watched, alongside Glenn and Maggie, as Daryl opened the glass door to shake the black fabric out before closing it and wrapping the tie around it. He handed it back to Rick with a grunt of thanks and then moved around the group to punch the up button on the elevator so harshly Rick was surprised the plastic didn’t crack.

He shared a confused look with Maggie and Glenn behind Daryl’s back as they waited for the elevator. There were several people milling around, also waiting for the lazier option instead of taking the stairs, but, when they noticed Daryl had situated himself in front of one of the doorways, many people turned around and opted for the longer route. Another person, however, decided joined their little group, standing off to the side of the metal doorway, leaning against the wall and pulling at her short hair, which was spiking up in several different directions.

“Hey, Carol,” Rick greeted as the ding signaling the doors were going to open went off.

She smiled shyly at him, big blue eyes making contact with his before fluttering down to the floor again. When the shining metal pulled back into its casing, Daryl stepped away from the entrance and gestured towards Carol.

She looked up, glancing from Daryl to Rick and back again, a question in her frightened eyes.

“Well, after you,” Daryl snapped impatiently, though his tone lacked any severity.

Carol lurched off the wall she’d been leaning against like it had shocked her, scurrying forwards into the small space, flashing Daryl a quick smile of thanks before pressing herself into the back corner of the elevator. Daryl stepped on after her, not granting his three other companions the same courtesy as he had the mousy redhead.

Rick’s stomach flipped at this revelation as he stepped onto the elevator after Glenn and Maggie. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm the churning in his stomach that was threatening to make him sick, his abdominal muscles clenched involuntarily, dully aching. He leaned against the wall opposite Daryl, as far away as he could get from his roommate in the cramped space. He prayed the elevator didn’t break down; it already felt like all the air had been sucked from the room, and he really wasn’t sure why.

“Ya’ play cards?” Daryl asked into the empty air. He was standing in front of Carol, facing the floor buttons.

Glenn, Maggie, and Rick were all silent, mirrored expressions of curiosity briefly appearing on their faces before they quickly smoothed them over into neutral masks. There was another beat of silence while Carol looked around at everyone she could make eye contact with. After a moment she jumped slightly, obviously coming to the conclusion that the question had been directed at her.

“N-no.” She cleared her throat and stood up straighter.

Daryl turned to glance at her over his shoulder; his hair had fallen back down into his face. Rick knew that Carol couldn’t see the soft liquid look of Daryl’s gemstone eyes, but _he_ could, and the disarming expression had his stomach clawing its way up into his throat.

“Ya’ wanna learn?” Daryl’s voice was quiet, reminding Rick of the tone one might use to talk to a small child or a frightened animal.

“I—“ Carol looked confused for a moment, but then an understanding smile spread across her face. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good.” Daryl turned his head just as the doors opened and he strode out, not giving anyone a chance to react to his unexplained gentleness. Carol skittered out of the elevator like an invisible string was pulling her behind him.

Glenn, Maggie, and Rick all shared a look as they stepped off after the pair.

“What was all that about?” Maggie asked quietly, glad for the cover of people still milling about the halls.

Rick shrugged.

“I like to call it ‘The Rick Grimes Effect’,” Glenn declared, clearing his throat and adjusting imaginary glasses. “It’s a theory I’ve been working on since freshman year.”

“Oh?” Rick questioned with a chuckle.

“Tell me more,” Maggie giggled.

“Well, I’ve noticed that any time—“ Glenn was cut off by a sharp voice from behind.

“Rick.”

The trio turned simultaneously, coming face to face with Shane. He was wearing a thunderous expression, dark brows drawn downwards, lips twisted in a frown. The weight of his thoughts was draped heavily over his features. He ignored both Glenn and Maggie, locking eyes with Rick.

“Hey, Shane,” Rick greeted easily, but his heart was pounding rapidly in warning.

“I need to talk to you.”

Before Rick could reply, Glenn clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll be in your room,” he said in parting, grabbing Maggie’s hand and tugging her away.

Shane turned without another word and strode towards his room. Rick followed him to the other end of the hall quietly. He realized, as he watched the stretch of muscles beneath his friend’s t-shirt, that he had yet to see inside Shane’s room so far this year, it was almost the middle of October. He swallowed as a sense of foreboding settled in his stomach like a stone.

 Shane strode into the room, Rick following behind him and closing the door with a click. As soon as it was shut, Shane spun on his heel, radiating anger so palpable Rick thought he could reach out and touch it, if he dared. “Lori’s birthday is in a few weeks.”

Rick blinked; this was not what he had expected. Granted, he wasn’t exactly sure what he had expected, or what he was even doing there, but he could say for sure that it wasn’t this. “I—know that,” he said paying close attention to keeping his voice level. He knew Shane in a temper was like dealing with a cobra coiled and waiting to strike. In order to court Shane’s anger, Rick had to transform into a mongoose, swaying and dancing away from the strikes that came swiftly and without mercy.

“What’re ya’ gettin’ her?”

“I—don’t know.” Rick was officially baffled.

“That’s what I thought.” Shane spun on his heel again, turning away from Rick to look out the window, a hand coming up to card through the back of his black hair in frustration—a gesture Rick was intimately familiar with. Something had really made its home under Shane’s skin.

“What’s this all about, man?” Rick asked, quiet and steady.

“You,” Shane bit out, whirling back around and striding across the room in the blink of an eye. He pointed at Rick, pressing his index finger against Rick’s sternum.

Rick took a step backwards, not out of fear, but to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling of Shane’s finger digging into his flesh. He pushed Shane’s arm away from him.

“And?” Rick asked, his voice.

“Dixon.”

“Shane, we’ve been over this. I’m not gonna tolerate you slanderin’ Daryl. He’s my friend.” Rick moved his hands to his hips, cocking his head to the side, trying to catch Shane’s brown eyes with his own.

“Friend?” Shane sneered, finally meeting Rick’s eyes from where he’d been staring at a spot past his shoulder. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“You ain’t implyin’ what I think you are. Are ya’?” Rick’s voice cracked slightly. His insides felt like he’d drunk nitrogen, cold and liquefied.

Shane narrowed his eyes. “So, what if I am?”

“Jesus, _fuck_ , man. You’ve known me since we were in diapers. Don’t ya’ think I woulda told ya’ if I was gay?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know man, ya’ been so far up Dixon’s asshole lately I’d be more surprised at this point if ya’ weren’t.” Shane tore his gaze away from Rick with a sneer of disgust, shaking his head as if to dislodge the thought.

Rick swallowed past the bile rising in his throat, pinching the inside of his cheek between his molars to keep the prickling at the back of his eyes from forming into tears. “So what if I was?” His voice was thick; he could feel his words sliding up his throat like acid.

“The fuck?” Shane took a step back, his dark eyes searching Rick’s own in confusion. “You ain’t gay. You _can’t_ be, man. What about Lori?”

“Not that it matters, but sexuality ain’t black and white, Shane.”

Shane snorted derisively.

“I can’t believe we’re havin’ this conversation.”

“If ya’ fuckin’ hurt her, I’m goin’ to kick my boot so far up your ass you ain’t never gonna be able to fuck yer stupid faggot.”

Rick’s fist collided with Shane’s powerful jaw before he could even think. The pain of his knuckles colliding with bone vibrated all the way up his arm, and he felt something crack. He hoped that he hadn’t broken his hand. Shane’s fingers brushed over where Rick’s hand had split the pale pink skin of his bottom lip. They stared at each other in shock, Shane’s pupils blown wide and Rick’s fist still raised and bloody.

“Don’t— _ever—_ call him that again.”

“Rick—“ Shane tried, but Rick had already turned and yanked the door open.

He didn’t give Shane a chance to say more, slamming the flimsy plywood behind him. The noise reverberated down the hall, echoing in his ears at the same pace of his pounding heart. He finally opened up his fist, a twinge of pain running through his middle finger, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t broken. His head felt light, and he realized belatedly that his hand was shaking. He pushed a little too forcefully off the wall next to Shane’s room that he’d been leaning against and walked down the hallway in a daze, feet dragging on the stained carpet of the corridor.

He raised his hand to knock before noticing the faint smear of blood on his knuckles and, dropping his hand back down to his side, tucked it behind his back. Someone must’ve heard him on the other side of the door, though, because suddenly in the place of blank white nothingness he was looking at the sky. Except, that couldn’t be right, because it was raining…and how did the sky get inside?

He blinked and Daryl’s face came into view, those thin lips twisted down in a frown, a towel around his neck and his hair in disarray. “Ya’ all righ’, Rick?”

Rick cleared his throat, and vaguely felt himself rubbing his knuckles against the inside of his jeans’ back pocket. He looked directly into Daryl’s eyes, and felt something dropping in his stomach, like the floor had given away beneath him. He swallowed thickly.

“No.” His voice was hoarse and quiet. He’d almost forgotten there were people just on the other side of Daryl’s body.

Daryl narrowed his eyes—those observant eyes, dissecting and cataloging Rick like he was a particularly rare specimen, sliced open and pinned on a cold metal table. “Okay.” Daryl turned away to address the crowd of people behind him. “I jus’ ‘membered, I got a shitload of homework ta’ get started on. So’s get ya’ sorry asses up.”

Rick could hear sighs of disappointment and Glenn loudly complaining before Andrea offered to move the party to her place. With the new location set, they filed out past Daryl and Rick, who was still standing in the doorway. He did his best to keep his face neutral, though he didn’t know if he’s succeeded entirely by the way Michonne’s eyes roamed over him as she moved by, her hand trailing delicately across the front of his shirt. He wouldn’t be surprised if her sensitive fingers could feel the turmoil boiling beneath the layers of flesh and bone and blood.

Rick strode into the room, passed Daryl, and collapsed onto his bed, face first in his pillow, tears soaking into the cotton. His shame seeped into the fabric, getting lost in the thousand thread count. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to punch something…again. He wanted to scream into his pillow. Paralyzed by his own treacherous body, he did none of these things. He was acutely aware of Daryl hovering by his hip, yet he could do nothing but try and breathe.

“Rick?” The sound of Daryl’s voice was muffled by the sea of cotton he’d buried his head in. Suddenly, there was a hesitant, feather light touch against the top of his head. He felt fingers card once through his hair, tugging gently at the curls on the nape of his neck. It sent pleasant jolts of electricity all the way down to his toes. He turned his head slightly, one eye opening to look at his roommate, who had retracted his hand with incredible speed. It hung by Daryl’s side, unmoving.

“Ya’ all righ’, man? The fuck happened to ya’?”

“I ran into Shane.” Rick sighed heavily, pushing himself up and twisting his legs under him to sit cross-legged on the bed. Daryl surprised him by sitting down next to him, not close enough to touch, but Rick could feel that radiating heat again. It made his stomach roll, and he tucked his head into his chest. Daryl was watching him between pieces of spiky wet hair, like he was looking out at him from behind a thicket of thorns. 

“And?” Daryl prompted, chewing on his lip, peeling white flecks of skin off and leaving smooth pale strips behind.

Rick watched the saliva glisten on Daryl’s bottom lip before swallowing thickly and looking into those blue, now-familiar irises. “And I—I punched him.” He forced the words out, feeling the shaking begin in his hands again. He put them on his knees, the offending appendage closest to Daryl, who, of course, saw the faint smear of blood instantly.

Daryl’s eyes flashed like lightening, with a white-hot fury that Rick had barely only glimpsed before. Rick looked away, out at the storm still raging outside. The droplets against the window raced down the glass with a frightening urgency that Rick felt in his own gut. Rick could hear Daryl’s jaw seesawing back and forth, grinding the words in his mouth, chewing them over in contemplation.

So, Rick filled the silence. “We’ve been friends for nineteen years. We’ve had our scuffles before—Shane ain’t the most level-headed man on the best of days—but _never_ once have I thrown the first punch. I’m not that kind of man. I—I don’t know…”

Daryl’s hand came down heavy onto Rick’s shoulder. It felt like he was reaching down and dragging Rick up from underneath the waters of his own self-loathing, waves and currents that had been strangling him without respite.

“’m sure ya’ had a good reason.”

Daryl was staring at Rick. He could feel it on the side of his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn his head and make eye contact. He hummed noncommittally, instead.

“Ya’ wanna talk ‘bout it?”

Rick turned towards Daryl then, the movement causing Daryl to drop his hand from Rick’s shoulder. The missing contact left him floundering in his head again and he reached out, slowly, to touch the bare knee exposed through a rip in Daryl’s jeans. He could feel Daryl’s thigh muscle tense for a moment, heard his breath hitch, before Daryl relaxed under his touch. Rick pulled away after a moment, knowing that the contact wouldn’t be welcome for long. When Rick looked back, Daryl’s eyes were hard as diamonds.

“He…said—“ Rick started and then cleared his throat. “He called you a faggot.” The words felt like shards of glass as they came out, ripping his throat raw.

Daryl lurched forward, but Rick’s hand shot out, grabbing him around his hip bone and grounding Daryl down onto the bed.

 “Hey.” His voice was calm and the warmest it had been in the past hour.

Daryl’s hand came up in a fist, but Rick didn’t flinch away, knowing that, if Daryl decided to punch him in the face, he deserved it, at least. Surprisingly though, Daryl dropped his hand to Rick’s wrist, gently pulled his hand away from his hip and placed it back in Rick’s own lap, like he was a small child being reprimanded for trying to pick up trash off the ground.

There was something in the depths of Daryl’s fathomless blue eyes that Rick couldn’t quite place, but he was reminded once again of an ever-expanding stretch of bright blue sky. As soon as Rick thought he’d begun to figure out the emotion shining through like sunlight, Daryl broke their stare, dropping his eyes to the corner of his sheets across the small space that dangled towards the ground. He pulled his towel from around his neck and dropped it into Rick’s lap without a word.

Rick took the hint and began to scrub away the scant amount of dried blood. When it was mostly gone he reached his arm up and tossed the towel over Daryl’s head. It hit the side of the hamper and slid to the floor. They watched it settle in silence, the roll of thunder and rain outside the only sounds in the tiny dorm aside from their even breathing.

Without preamble, Daryl stood and moved across the small space, towards the bathroom. The warmth that Rick had felt was gone, as if suddenly a cloud had moved in front of the sun. Daryl’s boots squeaked on the tile, and Rick noticed for the first time that Daryl had yet to change out of his still-damp clothes. Rick blinked at the observation; he’d been gone for at least fifteen minutes, plenty of time for the man to change into something drier.

Daryl hovered in the doorway, his back to Rick, like he was thinking of saying something else. He opened his mouth to speak but discovered that his voice had gone missing, unsure in the wake of Daryl’s abrupt absence. Before Rick could find the words, Daryl stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. Rick got a sinking feeling in his gut, like there were miles between them instead of a single, measly piece of wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to be clear: I love Shane, and Lori both, so much. And I won't tolerate character bashing. Yeah, you can say: "damn! Shane was being an asshole in this part" or "wow, Lori was being such a bitch here." But please leave it within the fanfiction world, please and thank you. They have to be kind of jerks in order for this to work, but I try to make all my characters multifaceted, please respect that and the characters. <3


	5. All Hallow's Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry it's been soooo long! But things have gotten super busy for me. Don't worry though, I'm not giving up. I hope you like the new chapter! God bless my darling beta, Jay, for correcting all my heinous grammar mistakes. She's the best.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Get up and help, you brat. Stop pining about your boyfriend.”

Rick’s head shot up from where it was buried in the cushions of Michonne’s couch. “I am not _pining_ …and he’s _not_ my boyfriend. I’m taken.” Rick let his head flop back down onto the pillow, breathing in the musty scent of the second-hand furniture.

He could hear Michonne snort from above him where she stood between his sprawled out legs, balancing with one foot on the back of the couch, trying to string orange lights above the window. “I invited you over to help, not whine about how your roommate isn’t talking to you.”

Rick sighed and carefully pulled his long legs up towards his body. He sat up with his back against the arm and his socked feet tucked under the middle cushion. “I’m not whinin’,” he mumbled, pulling the pillow he’d had his face in into his lap and resting his chin on it while he watched Michonne. “Besides, you look like ya’ got it handled. I strung up all them lights around the doorways. Also, I went and bought that dang dry ice for your deadly punch. Which by the way, I hadda drive an hour and a half to find.”

Michonne didn’t dignify his little speech with a response as she hooked the final light and jumped off the couch with more grace than Rick thought someone should be able to manage in the ridiculous armor she had on. She turned and looked at him, striking an impressive figure in the costuem she’d been working to complete since school had begun—authentic Samurai armor. “I’ve already told you; just talk to him.”

“But what if he hates me?” Rick picked at a string from the pillow.

“He doesn’t hate you.” Michonne sat down on the bar stool behind her, propping her head up on her hand where she was leaning it against the island counter. Her armor clanked as she settled.

"How do you know that? Trying to get a read on Daryl is like deciphering Chinese.”

“Drama Queen,” Michonne huffed, mostly to herself while Rick shot her a dirty look. “Okay, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but, he did mention you the other day.”

Rick visibly perked up, shuffling in his place on the couch so that he could face Michonne more completely. “What? Why didn’t you tell me? Wait—what’d he say? What’d _you_ say?”

“Firstly, I didn’t say anything because it didn’t occur to me that it was important,” she said, speaking deliberately, as if he were a particularly dim-witted child. “I stopped him in Lincoln Hall and invited him to the party. He asked if you were going. That’s about it.” Michonne shrugged and unrolled a Tootsie Roll from one of the orange and black bowls on the counter top filled with candy, popping it into her mouth.

Rick was silent for a few moments, turning over the information in his head and trying to get handle on his fluttering heart. “So, uh—is he comin’?”

Michonne raised an eyebrow at his obviously forced casual tone. “I don’t know. He didn’t really say. Sorry, hon.”

Rick had to consciously keep his body from sagging under the disappointment of the news. Why did he care so much anyway? Of course, it had been torture tip-toeing around each other, but he’d really only been friends with Daryl for two months before Daryl had shut him out.  For the past two weeks, ever since Rick’s fight with Shane, it had been radio silence. Rick winced at the thought of that day. Shane and he hadn’t really talked since then either. To make matters even worse, Lori was pissed about the whole affair, and fuck if he had any idea how to handle _that_.

What didn’t make sense, though, was Daryl’s avoidance of him—which was worse now than how it had been before they’d tentatively become friends. Daryl stayed out practically all hours of the day. From sun up, till sun down—and sometimes even longer—he disappeared completely. He came back at odd hours, never the same time. Usually, while Rick was right in the middle of homework, or fast asleep already. It was like Daryl could hone in on his plans, because Rick had tried several times to put off doing homework until after Daryl came home. This seemed to coordinate perfectly with the days where Daryl would return to their room after Rick couldn’t stay up a minute longer and passed out on his bed fully clothed.

Even with Rick’s light sleeping, Daryl was quiet as a cat, sneaking in and climbing under the covers before Rick could even register he was there. Several times Rick woke up to the sound of Daryl’s sheets being pulled up over his shoulders. On these nights, Rick would turn on his side and stare at the back of Daryl’s white t-shirt, trying to muster up the courage to say something in the half-darkness of their room, only to have the words stick in his throat.

Michonne had been a godsend lately, listening while Rick talked her ear off about one theory or another as to why Daryl was avoiding him. Her response was always: “Talk to him.” Advice he never really listened to. But she paid attention to Rick anyway, despite her increasing annoyance with him. Rick had spent so much time trying to puzzle out why Daryl had been treating him like he was diseased, he hadn’t give much thought to _why_ he’d been fixated on this. It wasn’t like he really needed Daryl, he had plenty of friends. Yet, something felt empty and hallow, now. Without Daryl.

He missed Daryl’s half-snort, half-laugh, as if he was trying to hide his amusement, like he was surprised every time Rick cracked a joke. Rick missed Daryl’s own dry, sarcastic humor, which had made him split his sides laughing more than once. There was something so simplistic about Daryl’s friendship, despite the complexity of the man himself. Daryl’s affection and loyalty ran deep and true. Rick was often times humbled by the trust that Daryl placed in him. There where moments when his various walls and guards were laid aside and Rick got glimpses of the soul beneath.

Yet, he had shattered those diamond moments like they were sheets of glass, and he had no idea why. And it _bothered_ him. More than Shane’s firecracker anger, which was explosive yet most likely to be short-lived; Rick figured by the end of the night they would be drunk and singing Christmas carols together, like every other Halloween since they were old enough for Shane to break into his father’s liquor cabinet. It bothered him, even more than Lori’s simmering resentment that he felt boiling to the surface every time he touched her skin.

Rick was snatched from his thoughts by the sound of knocking at the door. He looked around the living room and kitchen combo. Michonne was nowhere to be found. Getting up off the couch Rick rubbed at the back of his neck, stretching his arms up over his head and yawning. When he opened the door it was to find Andrea standing on the porch with her arms full of two filled brown paper bags.

“Hey,” Rick greeted her as he plucked one of the bags from her arms.

“Hi, Rick,” Andrea replied, following him inside the house.

He heard the door close behind him, while he set his bag on the counter. The contents clinked together as they settled. Curious, Rick peeked his head over the edge of the paper, inside were two bottles of Jack Daniels. Andrea was shuffling around behind him and he turned to see her carrying a bottle of vodka and another of tequila in either hand.

“Michonne already made punch, and there’s beer in the fridge,” Rick pointed out with an amused smirk as he rested against the cabinets, crossing his arms as he watched Andrea organize a bar-type situation at one end of the counter.

“I know, but she wasn’t sure how many people were gonna show up. Better safe than sorry. Would you mind handing me those?” Andrea asked distractedly, waving her hand in the general direction of the bag he’d carried into the apartment.

He took out the bottles and gave them to her. He watched as she lined one of them up with the rest of the alcohol before taking the remaining bottle of Jack and cracking the seal. Rick raised his eyebrows and didn’t say anything as Andrea poured two shots each into red solo cups.

She passed one to him before raising hers into the air. “You looked like you could use a drink,” Andrea explained nonchalantly, though her eyes were sparkling with knowing.

Apparently Michonne wasn’t quite as tight-lipped with her bedfellows as she was with the rest of the world. Not that he minded, he actually liked Andrea quite a bit; sure, her spitfire attitude left him a little overwhelmed and confused sometimes, but she was great for Michonne, and that was really all that mattered to him. So, he raised his glass to hers, clinking the plastic together before tipping the contents into his mouth. It burned going down, warm and slow. His eyes began to water slightly, and he couldn’t help but cough once to try and dislodge the uncomfortable feeling of the alcohol moving down his throat.

Andrea tossed him an amused look from where she was already pouring herself another shot. “Where’s your costume?” She asked, paralleling him by leaning against the island counter top. She sipped on the whiskey in her cup.

“Haven’t put it on yet.”

Andrea glanced over his head at the microwave behind him. “Well, it’s almost ten, you should probably get ready. I saw a few people headed this way while I was at the store.”

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Rick said, giving her a wave as he walked over to where he’d thrown the shopping bag with his costume inside of it.

“What is that?” Andrea asked when she saw part of the grey fabric poking out from the bag.

Rick just smiled at her and kept walking, his heart picking up a few paces in giddy expectation as he laughed to himself. In the bathroom, it turned out to be much harder than Rick thought to pull on the costume. As he struggled into his outfit, he could hear the front door opening and closing as people began arriving. Despite the spacious layout of the apartment, Michonne’s bathroom was like a closet, and Rick was thankful that the growing sound of overlapping voices was now muffling his struggle in the bathroom.

Finally, he managed to pull the grey synthetic fabric up over his jeans and zipped it up in the back, pulling the hooded part of the costume up over his curls. It hung down relatively low over his eyes so he pushed it back some, letting the felt teeth lay against his forehead and cheeks. After one last look in the mirror to straighten up the fabric he laughed again, shaking his head at his own amusement before unlocking the door and stepping out.

The first person he ran into was someone dressed as a T-Rex, who was obviously waiting for the bathroom. They look slightly pissed at first—no doubt because Rick had taken an extraordinarily long time in the restroom—but the expression disappeared when they noticed Rick’s costume, which looked like it was made the same way as their own.

“Rough time?” the T-Rex asked, motioning to the costume.

Rick huffed dramatically. “Tell me about it.”

The dinosaur laughed before skirting around him and heading into the bathroom. With another chuckle, Rick walked down the hall and into the throng of people that had appeared since he had gone to change. Rick wandered over to the island where people were making drinks and taking shots. He got in on one round, taking a shot of vodka that was thrust at him. After tossing it back with the random partygoers, made himself a glass of Michonne’s deadly fruit punch, which was a shade of red that looked alarmingly like blood. Michonne had turned the overhead lights off, bathing the room in an orange glow that made some people’s costumes look downright terrifying.

Rick scanned the crowd as he leaned idly against the wall and sipped on his drink. He kept telling himself that he wasn’t looking for someone but it was hard to deny that every time the door opened his head snapped towards it in anticipation. Another one of those moments had just passed, leaving his palms sweating slightly, when he heard someone obviously addressing him.

“What’re you _wearing_?”

Rick turned to see Lori standing there, with her hands on her bare hips and looking at him with an expression one shade away from pissed. He looked her up and down, taking in her bare stomach, covered in some sort of glitter. She was wearing a bra that she had meticulously glued shells onto and a shimmering dark green skirt. She must’ve been freezing, but at the moment she looked as if touching her might give him third degree burns.

Rick’s eyes flicked behind her to Shane, who was standing with his arms crossed, wearing a football helmet and a jersey over jeans—a different version of the only costume Shane had ever worn.

“What do you mean?” Rick asked easily, his eyes sliding back to Lori with a smile he couldn’t contain creeping into the corners of his mouth.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Lori snapped, looking behind her at Shane and gesturing like she couldn’t believe his outfit.

Rick felt the smile slip from his lips. “I’m a shark?” He voiced it like a question.

“I can see that.”

“Okay…” Rick said slowly, his eyebrows dropping down in confusion. “Then what’s the problem?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.” Lori flipped her curled hair, adorned with seashells and starfish, over her shoulder in irritation.

Rick flicked his gaze towards Shane, pleading for some help, but Shane’s face was hidden behind his helmet, he stood as still and silent as a statue.

“Do I embarrass you?” Lori whispered harshly, looking around to make sure no one was listening. Her voice sounded tight, and, behind her green and blue eye make-up, Rick could see her eyes beginning to shine with tears.

He took a step towards her and put a hand on her shoulder, cocking his head to the side, mouth frowning seriously. “’Course you don’t.” The alcohol was making his stomach churn unpleasantly. He leaned down to kiss Lori’s forehead, but she stepped back out of reach, his hand falling from her shoulder.

“Then…why? You—you promised we’d go as a couple.”

“We _are_ here as a couple, Lor!” Rick’s voice raised slightly in his frustration. His plastic cup caved under his grip.

“Don’t shout at me, there are people looking at us.” Lori cast her gaze around pointedly before staring at Rick again, hurt and embarrassed.

“No one is looking at us,” Rick sighed. He peeked up at Shane, who wasn’t making any noise but had shifted so that Lori was easily within stepping distance, as if he thought Rick was going to come after her. Rick put a hand up to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, Lor, this is all I could find. It still goes with the theme,” he reasoned with a half-hearted shrug.

“Sharks eat mermaids, Rick!” Lori hissed, looking absolutely furious.

“I’m sorr—“

“Save it, Rick, I don’t want to hear your excuses.” She turned on her heel and stomped away, easily getting lost in the sea of people.

Rick looked helplessly over at Shane, whose face he couldn’t see. They stared at each other for a few moments before Rick heard Shane sigh heavily and drop his shoulders, moving past Rick and following Lori into the crowd. Rick watched the spot where they’d disappeared for a moment before looking down into his drink before tossing the rest of it back. He made his way back over to the kitchen area, intent on forgetting the whole conversation that had just taken place, like if he could just drink enough he would be able to relax and enjoy himself. With that mindset, it wasn’t long before he was on his third glass and the world had started to blur at the edges.

He splashed punch onto the counter as he tried refilling his cup. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, though it must’ve been louder than he thought because next thing he knew someone had taken the ladle and his cup way from him. He looked up to find himself staring into big, pretty blue eyes.

“Need some help with this?” Carol asked pleasantly, already spooning the dark liquid into his cup and handing it back to him before he could respond.

“Thanks.” Rick smiled at her and began gulping the cool liquid like a dying man. When he put the cup down, empty, onto the counter he looked up at Carol’s face, darkened by the dim lighting. She was wearing a slightly pinched expression but doing her best to hide it.  
                “Rough night?” Carol asked sympathetically.

“No—yes…no. Well, yes—rough week.” Rick’s body was vibrating pleasantly and he was pretty sure he was grinning stupidly at Carol.

“Excuse me,” someone dressed as Luke Skywalker interrupted, trying to reach around Carol to get to the punch.

“C’mon,” Rick offered her his hand, which she took, and they walked away from the counter over to a spot on the wall where Rick had a good view of the front door.

“So, what’s wrong?” Carol asked.

Rick couldn’t decide if the concern on her face was genuine or if his mind was playing tricks on him. He swallowed thickly. “Nothin’.”

Carol raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, all right.” Her big blue eyes were assessing him, he could feel them roving over his face with care. “Is this about Daryl?”

Rick’s eyes snapped to hers. “Whadda know?”

Carol shrugged and hid a small smile behind the rim of her cup. “Enough.”

Before Rick could begin interrogating her, the sound of the front door swinging open distracted him. And, sure enough, as soon as he looked over Carol’s shoulders, there he was: standing in the doorway, looking at Rick with his hands in his pockets.

“Close the door, man! You’re letting all the cold air in!” the T-Rex from earlier complained.

Daryl visibly jumped slightly, obviously startled that someone was addressing him, but he made quick work of shutting the door and moving away, disappearing into the crowd, before Rick so much as blinked. The conversation with Carol had dropped off as she watched the scene unfolding with a pensive expression. Rick could feel her eyes on him, cataloguing his every reaction. It was making his skin crawl, and he kept swallowing, pushing down the pressure of anxiety that felt like it was going to explode out of him.

Finally, Daryl reappeared through the crowd, holding a Budweiser and making his way towards them. As he approached, it seemed to Rick as if everything in the room had been slowed down, and Daryl was the only thing in focus. Daryl’s eyes were wide, and Rick noticed that the can he was holding beginning to dent slightly under the pressure of his grip. Rick’s heart was beating profoundly, drowning out the sound of the music. His tongue peeked out between his lips, licking them nervously, tasting the sweetness of Michonne’s punch. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Daryl’s eyes flicker down to the movement. Rick took a step forward. Daryl looked like he wanted to run, but Rick couldn’t have that. This was his opportunity. He had something he needed to ask Daryl, something really, _really_ important. Yet, what came out of his mouth was: “You’re not wearing a costume.”

Carol giggled behind her hand, and Daryl’s eyes slipped over to her for just a moment before he blinked, bright blue eyes hidden for just a split second of shock before his lips quirked in a small smile and he huffed a breathy laugh. “Yup.”

“Hey, Daryl,” Carol greeted him, smiling sweetly.

“Carol,” Daryl said, his voice soft and warm. Shockingly different than the tight way he had answered Rick’s statement.

                Carol looked from Rick to Daryl before clearing her throat. “Well, I’m going to go find Michonne…I haven’t seen her yet.”

                Daryl nodded and touched her shoulder gently as she passed him. They both watched her go before Daryl returned his focus to Rick, whose brain was buzzing with too many thoughts. He couldn’t really grab onto what he wanted to discuss with the man standing in front of him, poised back on his heels like he was gearing up to run.

“You have to wear a costume.” Rick knew that wasn’t what he should be saying, but he couldn’t stop it from coming out; it was the first thought in his head—a piece of information solid and real that he could cling to.

“I don’t do costumes,” Daryl replied, still smirking. He took a swig of his beer and seemed to relax a little bit more, leaning against the wall. He looked Rick up and down, making Rick’s stomach churn, which Rick stubbornly blamed on the alcohol.

“But—“ Rick trailed off, furrowing his brow and trying to find the right words.

“But wha’, Jaws?” Daryl snorted, seemingly amused by something that Rick couldn’t figure out.

Rick tried to lean against the wall next to Daryl, but misjudged the distance and stumbled sideways. Daryl’s hand shot out to steady him, grabbing on to his upper arm, covered in the ridiculous grey felt. Rick looked at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, feeling more grounded than he had since two cups of punch ago. Daryl dropped his hand from Rick’s arm and took another sip of his beer, looking out over the crowd of people mingling in the living room.

“Ya’ haveta get a costume,” Rick said, though his voice lacked any real conviction.

Daryl’s blue eyes slid towards him, and he sighed. “I’m already here,” he pointed out. “And I ain’t goin’ back home to change.”

“Well, you could be—be a…” Rick trailed off as he squinted at Daryl. He’d completely forgotten that this was the first conversation that they had had in half a month. He was fixated on the fact Daryl wasn’t dressed up, he was the only one at the entire party to come without a costume, and it had thrown Rick’s befuddled mind into a frenzy.

***

“An angel!” Glenn popped out of doorway, as if he’d been there the whole time.

Daryl figured he probably had been, the nosy bastard.

Glenn was followed by Maggie, who was leaning into his shoulder and giggling.

“The fuck you on about, plumber boy?” Daryl growled at Glenn, who was dressed in a flamboyantly red shirt and pair of overalls with a huge red hat.

“Your vest,” Maggie pointed out through her breathless laughter. Her cheeks had a rosy, alcohol tint to them, which matched her pink Princess Peach dress.

Glenn, on the other hand, looked relatively sober, and was smiling wolfishly.

“An angel,” Rick mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Yes… _yeah_. Tell everyone you’re an angel.” He nodded his head enthusiastically, blinding Daryl with his exuberant grin.

Daryl turned to make a smart comment at Glenn and Maggie but they had wandered off, disappearing back into the crowd. He was left alone with Rick’s beautiful smile, which, it seemed to Daryl, was lighting up the dark room. It began to feel too heavy in the crowded space, like the walls were closing in on him. The music and the voices were pressing against him like weights, he couldn’t breathe properly.

“I’ve gotta go,” he managed to wheeze out, while his hand shook around his beer. He watched with fascination as Rick’s face fell, as if all the happiness had been drained from it.

“Oh.” Rick cleared his throat and looked away from Daryl, obviously trying to hide his disappointment.

Even if Rick was sober, Daryl could’ve seen right through his act—but, drunk, it was painfully obvious. Daryl tried not to let the fact that his departure affected Rick so deeply go to his head. He was already being crushed from the way Rick had looked at him when he’d walked through the door, like he held the answers to the universe. No one had ever looked at him like that.

 _“It’s because he’s drunk_ ,” a voice, which sounded suspiciously like his brother’s, whispered through his thoughts.

Daryl pushed the cruel voice out of his head, even though it was too late. His gut was already twisted with disappointment. This was _why_ he’d been avoiding Rick for the past few weeks. He couldn’t fathom the idea that someone cared about him.

That someone wanted to protect him. That someone would stand up for him. To have someone who didn’t question when he needed to bolt from the room to calm his breathing, and who was so attentive to his fucking insane inability to function normally around others. All without any indication that he wanted anything from him. There was a sense of loyalty to those actions that Daryl didn’t quite know what to do with.

“I didn’t mean _goin’_ , goin’. I’m just…goin’ outside for a smoke.” Daryl surprised himself with the revision to his earlier statement, since he did mean exactly what he had said. He wanted to leave so badly it felt like his whole body was magnetized to the front door. And, despite that, he’d essentially said he was going to stick around, and all for the way that Rick was smiling at him again, which made him feel warmer than the scarce amounts of alcohol in his veins.

Rick nodded at him vigorously. “A’righ’, I’ll be here when you get back.” As if to prove his point, he settled back against the wall with his arms crossed.

“A’righ’,” Daryl agreed softly, despite himself. He took one last look at Rick, looking way too enchanting in the oversized lump of shark costume, before skirting around the crowd and opening the sliding glass door, slipping out into the cool night.

He breathed deeply, letting his lungs expand fully before stepping out onto the grass from the small patio. He wondered idly, as he lit his cigarette, who exactly Michonne had to kill to get such a nice apartment. The backyard alone was a major selling point, closed in with a small picket fence and about ten square feet, a good size for right off campus. And, as was indicated by the amount of people mingling in the living room-kitchen area, the whole apartment was spacious.

There were a few other people scattered around the yard.  A couple girls smoking cigarettes in lawn chairs were eyeing him curiously, giggling when he cast a glance their way. He shivered slightly, passing it off as a chill from the cold night air on his bare arms, before he looked over at the other group, where the scent of weed drifted over to him. He took a few steps closer to that group, hoping that the cloud of the drug would keep the girls from deciding to approach him with the help of their friends and a little liquid courage. That was really the last thing he could take right now.

The familiar sensation of nicotine entering his blood was calming, and he was able to relax, even striking up small conversation with the group of stoners. They were kind of boring, but that was fine with Daryl, because, besides his name, they didn’t really ask him anything. People were too damn nosy at parties half the time. The only girl in the group was tucked under the arm of a guy dressed as Einstein and paid him little mind at all, allowing him to loosen up from the anxiety that he had felt inside.

He was on his third cigarette and in a semi-interesting conversation with some guy in a full suit of armor about the growing process of marijuana when he heard his name being called. He looked up and saw Rick walking towards him in a slight zigzag fashion.

“You—“ Rick poked a finger into Daryl’s chest when he reached him. “—were supp—supposed to come back,” he slurred.

Daryl felt his stomach drop. He had completely forgotten about Rick waiting for him while he was outside; the idea of the crowd inside caused his palms to sweat even now. “I lost track of—“

“Are you smokin’ _weed_?” Rick cut him off, whispering the last word harshly. The question was directed at Daryl, but the girl who was currently holding the bowl smiled and nodded, extending her arm out to him from across the circle.

“Ya’ want some?” she asked, smiling prettily at him.

Rick looked from Daryl to the glass piece, which was still smoking slightly, and back to Daryl and then narrowed his eyes. “Sure.” He reached out and took the bowl, putting it up to his face.

Daryl tried to pry it out of his fingers, but he was holding on tightly. “Rick, I don’ think tha’s such a good idea.”

“Fuck you,” Rick snarled angrily, ripping away from Daryl, and turning so his back was facing him. “Since when do you care ‘bout me?”

Daryl gritted his teeth, but the words stung more than he let on. Of course Rick would think Daryl didn’t care, he didn’t know that the precise reason Daryl had spent the last unbearable two weeks avoiding him was because he cared _too much_. But Rick didn’t know that, Rick could never know that. No one could. “Fine ya’ dumbass. I ain’t gonna clean up after ya’ when ya’ get too cross-faded and puke all over yerself.”

The stoners were watching the exchange with various degrees of interest and amusement. Daryl heard the click of the lighter that one of the guys handed Rick and then the sound of the herb crackling as Rick inhaled. Daryl sighed through his nose when Rick turned back around and handed the bowl off to Prince Arthur.

“Aw, he fucked up the rotation,” Einstein began to complain, which spiraled into a heated bickering match about whose turn it was.

Rick observed the exchange with an unfocused gaze. Daryl was watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to hold his gut and puke all over the shoes of the group. After a moment, he saw Rick sway slightly and he stepped towards him, putting an arm around his waist loosely.

Rick’s head snapped around to look at him, eyes wide and slightly bloodshot.

“C’mon, let’s go, Jaws,” Daryl commanded softly, nudging Rick gently with his hip to get him to turn around.

Rick nodded dumbly, staring at Daryl in a way that unnerved him, like he could read every thought flickering through his head. Rick tripped over his own foot as he tried to turn back towards the apartment and probably would’ve fallen flat on his face if Daryl hadn’t tightened his grip, bunching his hand into the baggy grey fabric in which Rick was encased. Rick threw an arm around Daryl’s neck and leaned into him. Daryl dragged him through the glass door, looking for Michonne. He didn’t see her, but he found the snappy blonde that had taken to following her around—what the fuck was her name? Aubrey? Amy? Oh, hell, it didn’t really matter.

He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around, smiling slightly at the sight of his inebriated roommate dangling from him like some sort of dead fish. “I’m takin’ him home, let Michonne know will ya’?”

“Sure thing.” She flounced off in her short secretary skirt before he could say anything else, but she seemed pretty sober, and that was good enough for him.

He scanned the crowd half-heartedly for Lori, but he couldn’t spot the brunette anywhere—not that it broke his heart any. He managed to get Rick out of the house and up into his truck, making sure he buckled his seatbelt and didn’t have any limbs hanging out before he slammed the door and went around to the driver’s side. The ride back to the dorm was silent, since Rick had fallen into a sort of stupor, though he never went to sleep. Whenever Daryl glanced over he could see the reflection of streetlights in Rick’s eyes.

Daryl managed to maneuver Rick successfully up the front stairs of the dorm building and into the elevator with only a suspicious glance from the security guard, who he nodded to as he passed. Once they were in the elevator, Daryl propped Rick against the hand rail and reached over to press the button for their floor, keeping a hand on Rick’s chest, not trusting him to stay up right on his own. They finally made it into their room, and Daryl practically tossed Rick onto his bed before bending down to untie his shoes.

Rick stirred for the first time on his own since they’d left Michonne’s, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Daryl behind half-lidded, sleepy eyes. Daryl swallowed before tugging off his second sneaker and tossing it behind him.

“You’re gonna make a mess,” Rick pointed out in a gravelly voice that went straight to Daryl’s groin.

“Ya’ can clean it tomorrow,” he responded keeping his voice low. He clamped his hand around Rick’s ankle, probably harder than he needed to, as he stood up from his crouch next to the bed.

Rick didn’t seem to notice; he was tracking Daryl as he moved around the room that felt strangely tiny in the moment. Daryl filled up a glass of water, then rummaged around in the one half of their closet shelf that they’d turned into a snack pile. He got a hold of the saltines he was looking for and headed back over to Rick. He sat down on the edge of the bed, since Rick had managed to pull himself up into a sitting position and made room.

“Eat this,” Daryl demanded, shoving a handful of saltines into Rick’s palm.

To his credit, Rick didn’t protest, immediately beginning to munch on the crackers—though, he didn’t take his eyes off Daryl. He began to cough when he practically inhaled the last one, struggling to swallow around the dryness in his mouth, and Daryl offered him water with an amused smirk. Rick looked up at him over the rim with gratitude, greedily gulping the contents down and handing the empty cup back to Daryl. He took the proffered cup and went to stand, but Rick was too quick for him, his hand shooting out to clasp around his wrist. Daryl looked down at where their skin connected, and then up at Rick, who was watching him steadily, though his eyes were shining in the light of the moon outside the window.

“Are you still mad at me?” Rick asked firmly, his voice sounding more sober than it had in the past hour.

Daryl sighed heavily and Rick released him from his grip, though his eyes held him prisoner. Daryl rubbed a hand over his face and glanced down at his shoes, unable to meet Rick’s eyes. “I wasn’t ever mad at ya’,” Daryl found himself admitting.

There was a long moment of silence, filling up the room like smoke, heavy and thick. “Then…why?” Rick’s voice trembled slightly, and Daryl flinched to hear it.

He knew he’d caused the insecurity lacing through Rick’s normally strong and sure tone. He brought his thumb up to his mouth, chewing on the cuticle to avoid answering. He wished Rick would just pass out and forget that any of this had happened. How could he even begin to explain why he’d been ignoring Rick? He’d never be able to tell him the real reason, and, right now, his brain was too tired to find a suitable lie. Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders, glancing up at Rick beneath his bangs.

Rick was wearing a confused expression, his eyebrows drawn together and his full lips, dyed dark red by punch, slightly pursed. “Are we good now?”

Daryl tipped his head slightly, but he knew Rick’s keen eyes would pick up on the movement.

He did, and his worried lines in his face smoothed out, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He nodded once. “Good,” he whispered, almost more to himself than Daryl. “Hey, no more runnin’, alrigh’? Friends talk when they have issues.”

He wanted to tell Rick all his problems right there, drop to his knees and confess. Rick’s immediate forgiveness did nothing but make him feel worse about the whole situation. Yet, all he could do was nod and swallow back the declarations on the tip of his tongue. The moment was broken when Rick scooted down on the bed, taking his pillow with him, stretching out and rolling onto his side with a sigh. Daryl shook his head with a soft smile and turned away, going into the bathroom to change.   

When he came back out, he was sure that Rick was asleep. He could hear his even breathing from across the room. He was curled on his side, still in his ridiculous shark costume, and shivering slightly. Daryl went over and took the quilt, knitted by Rick’s mother, off the end of Rick’s bed and unfolded it. He threw it over Rick, making sure that all of his long limbs were covered by the wool. He stood over Rick for a second, looking unabashedly at his roommate’s peaceful features.

Suddenly, Rick stirred, and, even though he didn’t open his eyes, he spoke, soft but clear: “You really are an angel, Daryl.”

Daryl snorted; Rick was still drunker than he had originally thought. “G’night, ya’ drunk,” Daryl replied, turning to crawl into his own bed.

“My angel,” Rick sighed, pushing his face further into his pillow.

Daryl froze in the middle of lifting his covers, heart pounding. He looked over at Rick, who slept on, peacefully unaware of what he’d just said. Daryl lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, refusing to look over at his roommate’s side of the room.

 _My angel_.

The two words echoed around and around in his head.

God, he was so fucked.


	6. Six Ways to Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm sososososo sorry that it took me so long to post this. I've been sitting on this chapter for a really long time, because I wasn't entirely happy with it, but I have made my peace and am finally ready to post it. Gotta give a shout out to my lovely beta, Jay, who, as always, pulled this chapter out of the dirt, shook it off, and made it worth something. Anyway, hopefully chapter updates can come more regularly, but I can't promise anything since life is always so hectic. But, I can promise you that at no time am I ever going to abandon this story. Thank you so much for all the hits, favorites, kudos, and tumblr messages. <3 They mean a lot and keep me going!

_Saturday_

Daryl was leaning over, tying his boots, when he heard the springs of the mattress across from him creak. It was still early morning; the sun had not yet risen, and dawn painted the room in calm blues. He bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on looping his laces together. Once he was done, he had no choice but to look up. His eyes connected immediately with Rick’s hazy gaze.  They stared at each other for a few moments. Daryl couldn’t look away, caught mildly off-guard by the fact that Rick was awake.

Finally, Rick blinked, severing the contact to roll onto his back and stretch beneath the quilt that had tangled around his waist. “Wha’ happened las’ night?” he asked around a yawn, looking groggily up at the ceiling.

Daryl snorted. “More like what didn’ happen.”

Rick turned towards him, forehead creased and looking as alarmed as he could in his half-awake state. “What d’ya mean?”

Daryl shrugged and stood, stretching his arms up over his head. His spine cracked audibly, and he sighed as he turned to grab his backpack, shouldering it. He heard Rick shifting around behind him, followed by a pained groan. He looked over to see Rick sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.

“Jesus, how much did I drink?”

“I ain’t really sure, came later than you. Though, the weed pro’ly didn’ help.”

Rick glanced through his fingers up at Daryl. “Excuse me?”

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. “Ya really don’ remember nothin’?”

Rick was quiet for a bit, dropping his hands to hang between his knees.

Daryl took another step towards the door, remembering the final words that Rick had mumbled in the darkness.

“Lori—“

Daryl paused mid-step, turning back around to face Rick, only to find that he was already looking at him. His eyes were slightly unfocused still and shimmering in the dim light.

“I—I remember…me ‘n’ Lori—we had a fight.” His voice sounded defeated.

Daryl pressed his lips together, humming slightly. “Don’ know nothin’ ‘bout that. I musta came after.”

Rick groaned in response, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Look, Rick, I gotta…go. I’ll talk to ya’ later. Drink some water, and take off tha’ stupid ass outfit.” He took a few more steps towards the door, his hand closed around the doorknob.

 “Wait—Daryl!”

Daryl turned around to see that Rick had sprung to his feet, swaying unsteadily and looking completely ridiculous in his costume from the night before. His eyes were wide and his chest was rising and falling quickly beneath the felt outfit. One hand was reached out towards Daryl, like he could stop him from leaving all the way on the other side of the room. Daryl’s heart jumped into his throat, and he felt his palm begin to sweat against the cool metal of the doorknob. It was eerily quiet and still in the room; Daryl realized that Rick had stopped breathing. He blinked after a few moments, curling his hand into a fist before dropping it, along with his eyes, downwards.

“Are we…good?”

Daryl’s heart stuttered, the same words echoed back to him from the night before. He nodded his head in one, sharp movement before realizing that Rick wasn’t looking at him. He cleared his throat, which caused Rick to raise his eyes to Daryl’s. Daryl flashed a small, closed-lipped smile at him.

 “We’re good.” With that he slipped out of the room before Rick had a chance to respond.

IIIII IIIII

_Monday_

Saturday had passed slowly and painfully for Rick, who spent the day in bed alternating between sleeping and nursing a massive headache. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so absolutely wasted; it must’ve been sometime in his freshman year. Rick loved a good party, but he normally knew his limits and stayed well within them. The worst part was he couldn’t quite seem to place where his sudden need for binge drinking came from. Was it his fight with Lori? Which had something to do with sharks eating mermaids but was blurry at best. Or was it his bereavement of his and Daryl’s fledgling friendship that seemed like it had been snuffed out before it even had a chance to flourish?

The day sulking in bed had led to a pile up of homework waiting for him on Sunday morning. The massive amount of reading, responses, and worksheets lasted him well into the night, and, by the time he woke up on Monday morning to the sound of Daryl’s alarm, he was fifteen minutes behind in getting ready. As he searched under his bed for one of his tennis shoes, he berated his roommate, who was just coming out of the bathroom, rubbing a towel through his hair.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?” Rick asked from position on the floor, muffled by the cavernous underside of his bunk.

Rick felt something hit his calf and carefully maneuvered out from under the bunk, twisting around to see his missing shoe laying on the floor by his leg. Daryl was turned away from him, buttoning a grey plaid shirt over his wife-beater.

“You gonna answer? Or keep pretendin’ you didn’t hear me?” Rick snapped as he sat on his bed and pulled his shoe on.

“Ya seemed like ya could use it. No offense, man, but you still kinda look like shit,” Daryl said nonchalantly, turning and ducking to look in the mirror, attempting to smooth his hair down before giving up and moving to sit across from Rick.

“Well…you should’ve woken me up.” Rick got up and crossed over to his satchel, scooping up the books off his desk and shoving them into his bag before turning on his heel and leaving before Daryl could say anything else. Rick’s walk across campus had him breathing unevenly by the time he reached the stairs of Lincoln Hall. He stood outside for a minute, catching his breath and trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. Checking his watch, he realized he only had two minutes to get to class. With a curse, he bounded up the stairs two at a time and crashed through the doors. As he was weaving in and out of the crowd of people making their way to class, he spotted a familiar head of black hair.

 “Shane!” Rick called over the din of conversation in the hallway.

Shane looked up, oak-brown eyes finding Rick’s before cutting quickly away as he ducked his head and moved to the opposite side of the hallway.

Rick frowned and his heart stuttered in his chest. “Shane,” he said quietly, the name sticking in his throat. He turned to get to Shane, reaching out to grab his arm and stop him. Shane was too quick for him though, had seen him coming, had obviously been watching because he twisted away so smoothly and kept walking without even glancing in Rick’s direction.

He watched Shane disappear out the front doors, his shoulders tense beneath his brown t-shirt. Rick stood, frozen in the hallway after the door swung shut behind Shane’s form. Someone bumped into him, causing him to jump slightly, snapping him out of his confusion. He looked around the hallway, disoriented, realizing that most people had vanished into the various classrooms. It dawned on him that he was late for class, and, with an internal shudder, he took off down the hallway. He skidded to a stop outside his lecture, palm sweaty as he turned the golden knob and pushed the heavy oak door open.

It creaked audibly, and he flinched, all hope of being able to sneak in evaporating completely as he made direct eye contact with his professor, who was looking at him with a pinched expression.

“Mr. Grimes, how nice of you to join us,” the woman drawled sarcastically.

Rick immediately dropped his eyes, feeling his shoulders hunch around his ears as he fidgeted with the strap of his satchel. There was a long, drawn-out pause where Rick could hear the shuffling of his classmates only barely over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. He opened his mouth, trying to force out some excuse, but nothing came. Instead, he stood in the front of the room like a complete idiot.

“Take a seat, Grimes,” the teacher commanded, turning to the whiteboard and writing his name down in the top corner, obviously marking him as tardy.

With a quiet exhale, Rick finally managed to look up, quickly scanning the auditorium for Michonne, finding her stoic gaze easily among his classmates. He was off like a shot, sliding in next to his friend, who moved her stuff over with a calm hand, obviously having saved him a seat. The burn of everyone’s curious eyes was on him, but it was nothing compared to the intense waves of concern emanating from Michonne. She wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she stared ahead, with the guise of paying attention to the professor droning on in front of the class. Yet, Rick knew her better, and, as he took out his materials, laying his notebook open and arranging it so that it sat perfectly straight and centered, he thought of something to say.

“’M fine,” he whispered to her as he finally settled, picking up his pencil and tapping it absentmindedly against his notebook.

Michonne’s eyes flicked to the movement, which made Rick’s hand still as if it had been frozen. Michonne shifted so that she was lounging more casually in her seat. “Mmhmm,” she hummed at him, seemingly unconvinced.

Rick ran a hand through his hair. “Really. Fine,” he repeated.

“Whatever you say.” Michonne’s mouth barely moved as she answered.

Rick sighed harshly and went back to tapping his pencil. He tried to fruitlessly pay attention to what the teacher at the front of the class had to say, ignoring the nosy friend sitting to his left. He attempted to shut out the thoughts of his friend who had just disregarded him, the useless roommate back at home, his aloof girlfriend, and the amount of work that had begun piling up on him…with little success. He spent most of class watching those exact things float in front of his mind’s eye.

When the bustle of the students clearing from their seats at the end of class, Rick jumped slightly. He looked down at his notes, which were nonexistent except for several marks where he’d struck his pencil fretfully against the white paper.

IIIII IIIII

_Tuesday_

He took a deep breath before reaching up to knock on the door in front of him. His heart was pounding in his chest as he heard shuffling coming from inside the room. A few minutes later the door opened, revealing Lori in a messy bun and pajamas.

“Rick?” She blinked, wide eyes only taking in his face for a brief moment before flicking down to the bouquet of flowers in his hands. “What’re those?”

“F-flowers.” Rick swallowed and then cleared his throat. “For you.” He held them out towards her, a petal from one of the daisies tangling in a loose piece of her hair.

She stepped backwards slightly before taking the flowers from him. She held them up to her nose and inhaled, closing her eyes as she did so. The pink from the petals reflected on her cheeks. “They’re lovely,” she said after a moment, smiling gently.

“Not as—lovely as y—ya’,” Rick mumbled, avoided her gaze, instead focusing on the bouquet in between them. “I know…I’ve been a—a downright…well…” he glanced up at her, “I’ve been an asshole. And I’s just—just won’erin’ if ya’d let me make it up t’ya?” Rick finally managed to keep his eyes above her collarbone, taking in the conflicted look on her face.

“I don’t know, Rick.” The hand that was holding the bouquet dropped down so it hung limply by her side.

He watched as one of the petals was shaken from the group and fell to the ground.

“I’m kind of busy right now...homework.”

“I didn’t—mean now.” Rick flicked his eyes back up to hers. “I’ve been tryin’a text ya’, ya’ phone been work a’righ’?”

"Yeah, Rick.” She breathed inthrough her nose sharply. “I just haven’t had time to get back to you.”

“I just—I mean, I ain’t heard from ya’ since Friday night. I know—know ya’ mad. And—and I know I fucked up...just, lemme make it up to you. Please.” He reached out to her, but she back-stepped further into her room. A sudden tide of anger welled up inside of him, and he had the urge to just walk into her room, invited or not—but, in the end, he held his spot, clenched down so hard he felt the ache in his jaw.

She ran a hand through her hair, seeming to forget that it was pulled back. “I’m just—I’m busy, Rick.”

“Lor—look, I know—I just—I’m sorry about the party. I didn’t—I’ve been—I’ve been havin’ a bit of a rough time about it.” Rick scratched at his face, itching from where stubble had begun to grow, much to Rick’s surprise. He rubbed over the rough texture of his cheek like he had forgotten it was on his face.

“Anythin’ else you gotta say, Rick? I need to get back to my homework.” Lori looked pointedly over her shoulder towards her bed, which was hidden behind the angle of the open door.

“Could ya’ just—just think about it? Maggie was tellin’ me there’s this Thai place Glenn ’n’ her went to. I thought maybe—“

“I’ll let you know. Thanks for the flowers.” Lori closed the door without another word.

Rick stood outside her door, staring at the place where his girlfriend’s face had been just moments before. After a moment, he rested his forehead against the wall next to Lori’s door, trying to regain control of his breathing. The frustration inside him was overpowering, but not as strong as the utter defeat he felt. Lori was stable, she was familiar. She had been with him for seven years. If they were heading towards the end of them—a realization that had suck into Rick’s gut, settling deep and cold—Rick wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, attempting to take shuddering, gasping breaths, feeling the sting of tears behind his eyes—from lack of oxygen or fear, he wasn’t sure. Nothing was making sense, like every part of his life was sand in an hourglass, every second burying him further.

“Rick?”

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and sprang backwards.

Andrea’s concerned gaze was watching him steadily, blonde strands wet from what he assumed must be shower water. He focused on where they were making dark circles on her blue t-shirt. She was standing with her arms crossed under her breasts. His eyes travelled down her legs, she was barefoot, and Rick was slightly suspicious that she wasn’t wearing pants underneath her large shirt.

“What are you doing out here?” Andrea asked softly.

Rick looked back up from where he’d been staring at her blue-painted toenails. “’m fine.”

“That’s not what I—“

“Night, Andrea,” Rick muttered as he walked past her, heading towards his room.

IIIII IIIII

_Wednesday_

Daryl waved good night to Tyreese as he lit a cigarette and hopped up into the cab of his truck. He left both the windows rolled down as he made his way back to campus. The night sky was dark, the clock on his dashboard blinked 1:57AM in glaring iridescent blue. He sighed and rubbed his face. There had been a four car pile-up on the freeway near the shop, and it had taken him and Ty, along with Martinez, all day to fix up two that hadn’t been beat to hell. Between that, taking on walk-ins, and organizing the paperwork in the back room (which always seemed to take forever), it had been a long day. Daryl’s bones were aching and he could barely keep his eyes open.

He parked in the student lot, hefting his book-bag over his shoulder before heading across campus towards Horvath Hall. It was sleepy and quiet when he entered, the young girl running the desk gave him a cursory glance as he made his way through the lobby. He nodded his head at her as he waited on the elevator. As soon as he was in it, he slumped against the fake wood paneling, already half asleep by the time the elevator jolted to a halt on his floor. Dragging his feet sluggishly, he followed the eerie red light towards the exit sign outside his room.  His keys jingled raucously in the quiet of the hallway and he cursed under his breath as he squinted to find the right one as quickly as possible, hoping that he hadn’t woken Rick.

The poor kid seemed like he hadn’t been sleeping at all lately, and Daryl knew Rick was trying to hide it from him. Rick would wait until a good while after they’d said goodnight and turned off the lights before crawling out of bed again and sitting at his desk, toiling over one thing or another. Daryl had fallen asleep more than one night this week to the ruffling of paper and rhythmic scratch of a pencil against paper.

Sure enough, when he opened the door, he was bathed in the warm golden light of Rick’s desk lamp. Slouched in his chair, with his face planted in the middle of his textbook, Rick was fast asleep, though the crease in his forehead and the slight part of his lips led Daryl to believe it wasn’t the most peaceful of slumbers.

Daryl dropped his bag quietly onto his own desk before going back over to Rick, leaning against the door to their closet and watching as Rick’s breath fluttered the pages of his notes. He chewed on his lip as he watched his roommate sleep, wondering what to do. On one hand, he was glad that Rick was finally sleeping, but, on the other, he knew that position was going to leave him with a nasty knot in his back the next morning. Daryl sighed through his nose before reaching out and clicking Rick’s lamp off.

Rick’s face was plunged into darkness, the only light coming from the large windows above their beds, where moonlight streamed in. After a moment, Daryl stepped forward, resting a heavy hand on Rick’s shoulder. He leaned down close, his lips just hovering over the curve of Rick’s ear, closer than he’d meant, but in the dark it was hard to judge the distance. He swallowed thickly. “Rick,” he whispered, giving his friend a gentle shake.

Daryl leaned back at the quiet tearing sound as Rick lifted his head slightly from the page, which had stuck to his cheek. It would’ve been funny if Daryl wasn’t so concerned about Rick’s sudden dedication to his impersonation of a nocturnal creature.

“Dare—?” Rick slurred, his eyes blinking open, their reflection caught in the moonlight.

“Mmhmm, c’mon let’s get’cha to bed.” Daryl leaned back down to wrap his arm behind Rick’s back, maneuvering Rick’s arm around his own neck.

“Wha’ time ‘s it?” Rick’s head lolled to the side, probably to try and look at Daryl, but because of the angle his forehead came to rest against Daryl’s collarbone.

“Late,” Daryl managed to murmur into Rick’s hair, closing his eyes and biting his lip to keep himself from inhaling the clean scent of Rick’s shampoo.

“Ya’ smell like car—“ Rick complained, using his forehead to push himself away from Daryl, which only lasted for a moment before it dropped back into its place.

“Been a’ the shop all day, c’mon. Bedtime, for both of us.” Daryl muffled a yawn in Rick’s curls.

“Can’, gotta work.” Rick tried to pull away from Daryl, almost toppling both of them over the other side of the chair, but Daryl managed to right them before Rick’s dead weight sent them careening onto the floor. The hand not behind Rick’s back had braced on the desk, with Rick hanging practically limp in Daryl’s other arm.

“We really gotta stop makin’ a habit of you fallin’ all over ya’ self,” Daryl grunted as he hoisted Rick back into a more appropriate sitting position in the chair.

“But’cha catch me,” Rick mumbled, turning his head to look at Daryl and giving him a sleep smile, patting him on the cheek sloppily with the hand that was hanging around Daryl’s neck.

Daryl was pretty sure his heart stopped. His legs were shaking, and he couldn’t tell if it was from the strain of holding them both up, or the affect that Rick’s words seemed to have had on his heartbeat. He swallowed before shaking his head.

“How much ya’ had to drink?” He snorted, covering up his shock behind the laugh. He managed to heave Rick into a standing position, though Rick tried to pull away again at the last second, knocking Daryl in the back of his head with his elbow.

“Dammit!” Daryl gritted through his teeth as he managed to clamp his arms around Rick’s ribcage before he face-planted onto the ground.

Rick twisted around in Daryl’s arms, straightening himself up so that they were face to face. They stared at each other for a moment, Daryl biting his lip slightly, attempting to ignore the press of their bodies together. Rick touched Daryl’s cheek.

“Sorry I hit ya’,” he muttered, gaze fluttering down guiltily.

Daryl huffed. “Well, that’s a first.”

“Mmm?” Rick yawned, dropping his forehead against Daryl’s chest.

“Nothin’, let’s go.” Daryl half dragged Rick towards his bed. He bent down to toss back the covers before depositing his delirious roommate onto the mattress.

Rick bounced for a moment, gangly limbs spread in all directions before he straightened himself out and rolled onto his side.

With a sigh, Daryl walked over and dropped his vest onto the back of his desk chair before sitting on his bed and removing his work boots. He considered for a moment changing into pajamas but after a moment decided to forgo his ancient, holey flannel bottoms and just kicked off his jeans. With a sigh, he lay back in bed, glancing over at Rick.

Rick was facing him, his eyes closed. He looked like he was finally peacefully sleeping. Daryl tried to think back to the last time he’d seen him actually sleep, and the fact that he was coming up blank was worrying. He decided he’d ask Glenn in the morning if this was normal, or if he should be worried. It was an odd feeling—to be worried about someone else. Hell, he barely even bothered to worry about himself. He’d never worried about Merle; nothing could happen to that asshole unless he wanted it to. And Uncle Jesse—well, he’d always told Daryl not to worry about him.

Rick was different, though. Daryl wanted to soothe the dark purple circles under his eyes away with his thumbs. He wanted to curl around him in bed, cover him like a blanket and make sure he got a peaceful night’s sleep. _Fuck_ , he had it so bad.

He tore his eyes away from the sharp angles of Rick’s face, turning around so that he was facing the wall. If he pretended the place where his nose rested on top of his pillow smelled sharply of Rick’s shampoo, it was between him and his imagination.

IIIII IIIII

_Thursday_

“I can’t believe I forgot.” Rick sat at Michonne’s kitchen counter with his head in his hands.

"You’ve had a lot on your mind.” Michonne looked at him sympathetically from the couch where she was finishing off a bowl of popcorn.

Rick nodded and looked over at Michonne, exhaling out of his nose harshly, trying to clear his head. It had been a shit day. He’d woken up realizing that he hadn’t stayed up and studied like he’d meant to. A great start to what turned out to be a terrible morning. In class, they’d had a quiz. Normally, Rick would have been right on top of it, but apparently it had been announced at the beginning of his class on Monday. The one to which he’d been late too after his run-in with Shane, of course.

Currently, he was at Michonne’s house. They had come back to her place after class, like every Thursday, to watch movies and hang out after class, but he couldn’t keep his attention on _Day of the Dead_ for more than a few moments.

“Rick,” Michonne barked.

He jumped slightly and turned towards her.

She was assessing him with that cool gaze of hers, which made him drop his eyes to the ground. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?”

Rick shook his head slightly. He heard Michonne sigh.

“All right, well—it wasn’t really important anyway. But, while I have your attention, will you get me some more popcorn?” She held up the bowl that had been in her lap. The sunlight caught the glass, which glinted in his line of vision. “You’re closer.”

He nodded slightly, keeping his eyes on the bowl instead of her face, trying to beat back his panicked thoughts of failure and disappointment attempting to battle their way through. He stood up and moved towards her, taking the bowl and heading towards the microwave. It was just a moment, just a split second where his thoughts swelled like a crashing wave echoing _quiz, Lori, Shane, quizLoriShane_ —loud and fast. His hands had begun to shake, and, before he could react, the bowl had slipped out of his hand. The shattering of the glass was like a gunshot ripping through his mind, bursting the carefully constructed dam around his thoughts.

He automatically dropped to his knees, hands still shaking and breath stuttering out like he had managed to swallow shards of the broken dish. Tears welled up in his eyes and he gritted his teeth against the tide of emotions. “I-I’m—I’m so—I’m so sorry, I’m—” he stuttered as he felt Michonne’s presence behind him. His trembling fingers reached for a large piece of glass, twitching at just the wrong moment. He watched, detachedly, as bright red blood appeared around the pink flesh on the pad of his middle finger.

Michonne knelt down next to him, placing a hand of his shoulder and looking at the side of his face.

He ignored the weight on his shoulder in favor of focusing on his breathing and attempting not to burst into tears. “I-I’m sorry, I’ll—I’ll buy ya’ a n-new one,” he choked out through the panic rising in his throat like bile. _God_ , he was such a shit friend. Michonne had been nothing but kind to him, and _this_ was how he repaid her. A strangled sob forced it way out of him. He bit down harder on the inside of his cheek, jaw muscle twitching painfully.

Michonne’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Rick, it’s fine. I have a broom. You don’t have to pick it up.”

“No—no, no, it’s—I’ve got it—I can do it.” Rick reached for another piece but Michonne’s hand clamped down harder on the muscle between his neck and arm. He retracted his hand and finally looked at Michonne, though his gaze didn’t stay there long when he saw the open concern in her brown eyes.

“Go sit down,” Michonne ordered. “I’ve got this.” She moved her hand under his arm swiftly and pulled him up.

He leaned against the counter, trying to conceal the fact that his breathing was coming in short, uneven breaths.

“Go sit, Rick,” Michonne said as she came back from getting the broom out of the closet. Her voice was firm, leaving little room for argument.

Rick hadn’t even noticed she’d left. He staggered over to the couch, collapsing down on it and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head. He screwed his eyes shut, breathing in through his nose and out his mouth, keeping quiet as he did so and listening to the sounds of Michonne sweeping up his mess. He heard the lid of the trashcan open and Michonne dump the glass before snapping the top closed again. She shuffled around in the kitchen, opening and closing a few cabinets. He felt more than heard her as she approached and sat down on the couch next to him.

“Here, eat this. You’ll feel better.”

A Hershey’s chocolate bar appeared in his line of vision. Rick looked up and over to Michonne, roughly wiping a tear that had slipped out of one of his eyes. Michonne wiggled the bar in front of him enticingly.

“I—can’t.” Rick tried to push the candy back at Michonne but she held firm.

“Eat the chocolate, Rick. Don’t let my reference go to waste.”

Rick managed a small chuckle before sighing and taking the chocolate bar from her. He unwrapped it slowly, acutely aware of Michonne watching him worriedly. He took a bite, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue, feeling a pleasant twinge at the back of his jaw from the taste. He sighed quietly before collapsing back into the couch cushions.

“Better?” Michonne asked, reaching out and resting her hand in Rick’s curls, carding her hand through them once.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Good. Now, let me get back to my movie.” Michonne settled back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged.

The black and white film flickered on the screen, lulling Rick into a stupor. He munched periodically on the chocolate, and, before he knew it, he was licking the remnants off his fingers, trying hard not to move too much, as Michonne had fallen asleep, her head resting gently on his shoulder. He managed a small, watery smile, and, for just a little while, he felt…normal.

IIIII IIIII

_Friday_

Daryl was really looking forward to a shower. He was pretty sure he was wearing about four gallons of motor oil, and his hair smelled suspiciously like windshield washer fluid. He stomped into his and Rick’s room, looking around briefly for Rick—who was nowhere to be found—before going into the bathroom. When he was finally done with his shower, it was dark outside the little bathroom window. He dried off and pulled on his clean t-shirt and jeans before going back into the dorm room. He stopped when he opened the door and noticed Rick standing at his desk, moving books and notes around in his satchel.

Rick had been distant the past week, and Daryl couldn’t figure out if it was him, or something totally different. Glenn had been no help, saying that sometimes Rick could get a little stressed and retreat into himself a bit and he probably shouldn’t worry. For some reason, Daryl just hadn’t quite believed Rick’s former roommate. He chewed over something to say as he went over to his dresser, turning his back to Rick and digging through his clothes to find the shirt he wanted.

“So, Rick, ya’ talked to Lori recently? I jus’ saw ‘er yesterday, she seemed kinda pissed—“ Daryl paused as he pulled an arm through his sleeve.

Rick had stop shuffling papers around.

Daryl took that as a good sign. “I mean—she always seems kinda pissed,” he chuckled and then cleared his throat when Rick didn’t join in. “I just know ya’ had that fight at the party, and ya’ haven’t said anythin’ ‘bout her—and I know friends…talk about these—“

There was a sudden crash and Daryl whirled around in the middle of buttoning his shirt to see Rick collapsed on the floor with his head resting on the drawers of his desk, legs folded haphazardly under him like a newborn colt. He rushed over to Rick’s side after he began to make strange gasping noises.

“R—Rick?” Daryl maneuvered Rick into a more comfortable position, so that his back was against the drawers.

Rick immediately pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, his chest shaking violently as tears ran down his face. His lips were parted but he’d stopped making any sound. Daryl didn’t even know if he was breathing.

“Dammit—Rick, are ya’ okay? Jesus—I didn’ mean what I said ‘bout Lori.” Daryl chewed on his lip and then rested his hand in Rick’s hair, though the contact seemed to do nothing but make Rick shake harder. Daryl removed his hand and sighed harshly through his nose. “Shit, man, shit. What do ya’ need? What can I do? Should I call 991, I don’t know if you’re even breathin’. Rick, you gotta talk to me.” Daryl moved so that he was crouched in front of Rick, attempting to connect their eyes, but it was like Rick had rocketed off to some distant planet.

Suddenly, Rick’s lips trembled and a strained sound passed through. “Sh—“ The high pitched whine was indiscernible after the first syllable.

“Rick, c’mon man, breathe. Just—tell me what ya’ need.”

Rick’s hand shot out and grabbed Daryl’s wrist. “Sh—a—ne—“ he gasped out between stuttering, pained breaths.

“Shane? Ya’ wan’ me to get’cha Shane?” Daryl asked, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

Rick managed a small nod, staring intently at the hole in Daryl’s torn jeans.

“’Kay, I can do that. I’ll be right back.” Daryl shot up and swiped his keys off his desk before bursting out of their room like he was on fire. His bare feet made no noise as he bolted down the hallway to Shane’s door. It seemed like it was a mile away, instead of just four doors down. He skidded to a halt and pounded on the door, almost cracking the flimsy plywood.

Shane’s mildly alarmed face appeared, masking over into one of severe dislike at the sight of Daryl’s face.

“Rick—“ Daryl panted, “dunno wha’s wrong. Can’ breathe—“

Shane’s face immediately became serious. “Where?” He commanded.

“Our room, c’mon.” Daryl didn’t wait to see if Shane was following as he turned and dashed back down the hall, but the sound of Shane’s boots thudding on the carpet told him that Shane was right behind him.

Daryl’s hand, shaking from adrenaline, fumbled with the keys for a moment outside the door.

“Hurry up, asshole!” Shane snarled in his ear, his hot breath making Daryl’s skin crawl.

“’M tryin’, dick,” Daryl growled back before finally getting the key in the door and throwing it open.

Shane pushed past him into the room, dropping immediately to his knees in front of Rick. He caged Rick’s face gently in his hands and tilted Rick forward so that their foreheads touched. Daryl leaned against the closet, watching. It felt almost too intimate for him to be part of, but he was transfixed and couldn’t look away. Part of him was raging in jealousy, while another was telling him this was for the best; Shane obviously knew what he was doing. Daryl just wasn’t needed.

“Wha’d ya’ say to him?” Shane shot at Daryl.

“I dunno, man! I was jus’ askin’ ‘bout Lori and next thing I knew he was on the ground.” Daryl shifted agitatedly, moving past Shane so that he pace between his and Rick’s beds.

Shane had turned back to Rick and was muttering softly to him. Daryl sat heavily on his bed, twisting the dark blue sheets in his fingers, attempting to hear what Shane was saying.

“Hey, man, you know Lori loves ya’. I love ya. Ya’ gonna be okay, Rick. Rick, ya’ know you’re gonna be okay, right?” Shane’s hands were petting Rick’s unruly curls with one hand, his gravelly voice soft and soothing. “Ya’ gotta breathe, darlin’, c’mon.”

Daryl’s own breath hitched at the term of endearment, and he turned away from the two, staring out the window instead. This wasn’t a time for jealousy to take center stage; obviously something was seriously wrong with Rick. This wasn’t about him.

He listened intently to the sound of Rick’s breathing, which had begun to become more regular. Shane was breathing deeply in and out, the rush of his breath being echoed by Rick. After a few moments, he heard Shane shift and he looked back over. Shane was holding Rick by the shoulders and they were staring at each other intently. Rick had stopped crying, and Shane was smiling at him softly. The look was disarming and gave Shane an almost charming appearance. Daryl was surprised by the gentle look gracing his face. Slowly, he watched as Rick’s lips curled into a small, shaky smile.

“Ya’ gonna be okay, darlin’?” Shane asked quietly, lowering his head so that he was exactly at eye level with Rick.

Rick sniffed and nodded.

“Ya’ know the drill,” Shane prodded lightly. “I ain’t leavin’ ya’ alone till ya’ say sumthin’.”

“’M fine,” Rick managed to croak out, his voice hoarse.

Shane ruffled Rick’s hair. “Yeah, ya’re.” He smiled again, leaning forward on his haunches to brush a kiss against Rick’s forehead before he stood and turned towards Daryl.

“Ya’ make sure he eats sumthin’ tonight, Dixon,” he ordered before bending over to card his hands once more through Rick’s hair. Without another word, he left.

It was quiet for a very long time. Rick still sat, resting against his desk, staring at a spot on the floor while Daryl watched him from the other side of the room. It couldn’t have been more than a few feet, but it felt like a chasm had opened up between them. Daryl was sick of that feeling. It was strange to actually care about how someone else was, to want to make sure they were okay, to let them know you were there for them.

After a long, struggling internal debate Daryl moved off his bed and went over to Rick, sitting down on the floor beside him and stretching out his legs. He didn’t say anything, unsure what there was to say, but knowing, somewhere in him, that Rick needed something…and, even if he didn’t know what it was, he was damned sure he wasn’t leaving Rick’s side till he figured it out.

Finally, Rick moved his arms; his knees dropped down to either side of him so that he was sitting cross-legged. The knee closest to Daryl folded over Daryl’s thigh. Rick’s head dropped back against the desk with a dull _thunk_. “Ow,” Rick chuckled slightly, bringing his head forward so he rub it.

Daryl snorted but didn’t say anything. He wanted to take Rick’s face in his hands like Shane had, wanted to kiss his forehead and run his fingers through his hair. But Rick probably didn’t want that. Compared to Shane, Daryl was practically a stranger. Instead, he settled on putting his hand on Rick’s knee and squeezing gently. It felt pretty stupid, but Rick sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head back against the desk, more gently this time.

“I—have anxiety,” Rick admitted after a while.

“Nah, ya’ don’t say?” Daryl chuckled.

Rick snorted and knocked against Daryl’s leg with the knee that was resting there. “Ya’ don’t gotta be an asshole about it.”

Daryl huffed a breath and then frowned slightly, looking at Rick out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry I couldn’t do nothin’ about it.”

Rick dropped his head forward and tilted it to catch Daryl’s eye. “Hey, it’s not on you.”

Daryl hummed noncommittally, chewing on his lip and avoiding Rick’s gaze by looking straight ahead. He felt the heaviness of Rick pressing his knee down on Daryl’s thigh.

“It’s not on you,” Rick repeated, his voice rich with the quiet, dependable confidence that Daryl had come to know from him.

And for a moment, he almost allowed himself to believe it.


End file.
